


Harry Potter and the Spiteful Sorting Hat

by jinxauthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe, Draco Malfoy is still awful, Gen, Harry finds new friends, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I'm still working on tags., Let's see where this goes., Maybe it'll be funny?, My First Work in This Fandom, Slytherin Harry Potter, Sorting is Pointless Anyway, The Sorting Hat, The Sorting Hat is a Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 155,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinxauthor/pseuds/jinxauthor
Summary: “Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice with a touch of malicious glee. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that.."





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Harry Potter's birthday, I present the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Spiteful Sorting Hat! This fanfic will explore how Harry's first year at school might have been different if he'd been sorted into another house. I'm sure it's been done a million times before, but I don't care. It was fun to write. Please enjoy!

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called next. He fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide where it thought Neville belonged. When it finally shouted “Gryffindor,” Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed “Slytherin!”

Malfoy went to join his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

Moon... Nott... Parkinson... Then a pair of twin girls, Patil and Patil... Then “Perks, Sally-Anne...” and then, at last...

“Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“ _Potter_ , did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin._

“Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice with a touch of malicious glee. “Are you sure? You could be _great_ , you know, it’s all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no?”

_Please,_ thought Harry again, desperately, _Anything but Slytherin!_

“Well, if you’re sure. Better be… SLYTHERIN!”

The hat's declaration echoed across the hall, but there was no eruption of cheers like those that had followed the other students. Harry remained seated on the stool, not entirely believing what had just happened. He almost expected the Sorting Hat to whisper, “Just kidding,” but instead it was removed from his head.

“Wait!” he said to Professor McGonagall as she started to push him along. “I think there’s been some mistake.”

Professor McGonagall looked just as astonished as he did by the circumstances, but still she shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Potter,” she said quietly, but sternly. “The Sorting Hat is not to be questioned. Now go join your new housemates.”

Shaking from nerves and nearly delirious with confusion, Harry stumbled numbly toward the Slytherin table. He was in such a state of shock, he hadn't noticed that he received the most indifferent applause yet. In fact, many Slytherins looked like they would have preferred it if Harry had been sucked into the black depths of the Sorting Hat, never to show his face again.

This was not the case with Draco Malfoy, who looked absolutely thrilled to see Harry making his unsteady way toward the Slytherin table. Harry felt his stomach twist at the sight of Malfoy's decidedly evil grin. His horror escalated when Malfoy ordered his friend Goyle to switch seats with him, placing him directly on Harry's right.

“Well, well, well...” Malfoy said sneeringly in an undertone meant only for Harry to hear, “Looks like you'll be reconsidering my offer, eh Potter? I told you I could help you sort out the riff-raff.”

Harry clenched his teeth and kept silent. He fixed his gaze on the rest of the students sill waiting to be sorted, determined to ignore Mafloy's taunts. He spied Ron's bright red hair and flinched in surprise. Ron was looking back at Harry with an expression of complete dismay, but he looked away again quickly on meeting Harry's eyes.

“You're going to want my help, you know. My family has been in Slytherin house for generations. We have a lot of sway around here. My father is even on the school's governing board...”

Malfoy droned on and on. Harry wanted to tell him exactly were he could shove his “sway,” but was painfully aware of the hulking forms of Goyle and Crabbe on Malfoy's other side. He swallowed his words and continued to stare resolutely forward.

“Weasley, Ronald!” called out Professor McGonagall, and Harry's heart leapt as he watched his friend approach the stool. He knew Ron didn't want to be in Slytherin any more than he did, but rather selfishly, he thought that it wouldn't be so bad so long as they were together. Remembering the injustice of his own sorting moments before, Harry crossed his fingers under the table, hoping that Ron would be given the same treatment.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat cried an instant later.

Crushing disappointment filled Harry while Ron walked gratefully toward the gold and scarlet table, where he joined the red-haired members of his family. Malfoy must have seen Harry's expression change, because he began hissing a new stream of unwanted commentary.

“Exactly what I would expect from a Weasley. It's what I was trying to tell you before. They're all pure-blood, but not a one of them has been sorted into Slytherin. That'll be because his father's a muggle-lover. My father says...”

“Don't you ever shut up?” said a large, rectangular shaped girl sitting across from them. Harry recognized her as Millicent Bulstrode, the first student to be sorted into Slytherin that year.

Malfoy turned pink at the insult, but recovered quickly from his surprise.

“I hope you're not talking to me,” he said scornfully.

“I don't see anyone else yammering like an imp,” Bulstrode sneered, taking Harry aback by the venom in her voice.

Malfoy had regained his composure. “It's Bulstrode, isn't it?” he asked, “I'm sorry, I can't seem to recall _your father's_ name.”

He turned to Harry, his expression turning one to mock pity, “You see, Potter, even in the noble house of Slytherin, you find a few pure-blood families who just aren't quite what they should be. You're really lucky you have me here to show to the ropes.”

“Budge up, Malfoy, and quit crowding the famous friend!”

Harry and Malfoy both looked up into the face of a tall, attractive black boy. With a cheerful grin, he settled himself directly between Harry and Malfoy, forcing Malfoy into Goyle's side while Harry hurriedly slid over to make room.

“Hi, Blaise Zabini,” said the newcomer, his smile impossibly brilliant. He grabbed onto Harry's hand and shook it with enthusiasm, “Can't tell you how pleased I am you're in Slytherin.”

Harry managed to stammer his thanks, hardly knowing if he meant them. Malfoy was glowering at him over Blaise's shoulder.

Whatever biting comment he intended to make next was cut off as Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He beamed at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. Harry thought he saw the headmaster's eyes flicker in his direction, but quickly dismissed the notion. No doubt he was only paranoid because the rest of the great hall was still gawking at him. At least most of the Slytherins had the decency to pretend he wasn’t there. Maybe they wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Elucidate! Babadook! Gibbous! Pox! Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Everybody except Harry's fellow Slytherins.

“Flaming Istari! He _is_ as mad as they say, isn't he?” Blaise commented, laughing boisterously.

“It's amazing they let him in charge of a school,” Bulstrode agreed. Blaise grinned at her approvingly.

“Well, you aren't wrong. Aren't you eating, Harry?”

Harry looked down at the golden plates that had been empty a few seconds ago, and his mouth fell open. The dishes before him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

And yet no amount of appetizing food could have tempted Harry at that moment. He was still too confused, and his disappointment at being sorted into what was certainly the worst Hogwarts house had completely killed his appetite. He closed his still-gaping mouth and sat silently.

“Harry?” Blaise asked as he piled his plate high with every kind of food on the table, “What's the matter? Aren't you hungry?”

Both Blaise and Millicent Bulstrode were looking at Harry with very interested expressions. Harry opened his mouth but found no words. He was painfully aware that Malfoy was eavesdropping on their conversation. He couldn’t very well tell these people that he had begged not to be in Slytherin, could he?

Feeling desperate, Harry tried looking everywhere but at the Slytherins surrounding him. He could see all of the other first years happily making new friends at their tables. Ron seemed to be having a lively conversation with one of the school ghosts. And absolutely everywhere he looked, he caught furtive glances directed at him. Even from the high table, seated in his gold chair, Albus Dumbledore was looking at Harry with a curious expression.

Finally, Harry looked back to Blaise and Millicent. They were still waiting for him to speak. Harry took a deep breath and said, “I… I think that something has gone terribly wrong.”

“You mean your sorting?” Blaise asked conversationally, his attention now directed toward the treacle tart he was eating.

Harry flinched in surprise. “Er... Well... Yeah, but how did you know?”

“Simple, the hat is joke. I mean, look at where it put Granger.” He nodded toward a bushy-haired girl at the Gryffindor table. “I met her on the train. Seemed like a dead ringer for Ravenclaw to me, but there you have it. As for me, I wanted to be in Hufflepuff.”

Millicent snorted with derision. Blaise glanced in her direction with a raised eyebrow.

“Problem, Bulstrode?”

“ _Hugglesnuff_? You must be joking.”

Blaise gave her another dazzlingly white smile, “You're right, I am joking. The truth is that I wanted to go to Beaux-Batons like my mum, but she didn't think that was the best idea, seeing as I don't speak a word of French.”

“What's Beaux-Batons?” Harry asked.

Blaise looked at him with eyebrows raised, “It's the French wizarding school, of course! Blimey, Harry. You've never heard of Beaux-Batons?”

Harry wasn't sure how to tell him that until very recently, he hadn't even heard of Hogwarts.

“So what did the hat say to you?” Harry asked instead.

“Oh, it’s just what you’d expect. I’m so exceptional that they ought to make a new house and name it after me. No, really! Those were its exact words! Had to talk it out of that plan, though. Far too much trouble on the first day.”

Harry laughed in spite of himself, and suddenly realized that actually, he was quite hungry. It was then Harry learned that good food can make any situation a little brighter. As he stuffed his face with every kind of roasted meat imaginable, he began to think maybe things would be just fine in Slytherin House. Millicent and Blaise didn’t seem like terrible people, the Bloody Baron wasn't quite as terrifying up close, and after all, Harry was still a wizard. Even if he was stuck in the most hated house in Hogwarts, life here had to be better than it had been with the Dursleys.

Harry’s mood improved considerably with this thought in mind, at least until he glanced up at the high table of professors again. He spotted Professor Quirrell talking nervously with another teacher. It was hard to miss Professor Quirrell due to the garish turban atop his head, but as Harry took a closer look at his conversation partner, he decided there were worse things in the world than ugly head scarves. Greasy hair, for example. Just as Harry decided that the black haired professor might benefit from Professor Quirrell's fashion tips, the man in question broke off his discussion to stare directly at Harry.

Searing pain tore through Harry’s scar.

“Ow!” he shouted, grabbing his forehead. His cry was mostly drowned out by the loud chattering in the great hall, but Millicent and Blaise had noticed.

“What’s wrong, Harry?”

“It’s my scar…” Harry started to say, but he was cut off by another wave of pain. The black-haired professor was still glaring at him. “Ouch! Ow!”

“Your scar?” asked Blaise. “Are your Dark Lord senses tingling?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Millicent.

Blaise pointed in Harry’s direction with a fork. “Well, that’s where he got the scar from isn’t it? Now for some reason it’s hurting him.”

“Has it ever done that before?”

“No… I mean, I don’t remember it ever hurting me.” Harry hesitantly glanced at the professor again, but the man had resumed speaking to Professor Quirrell. “Who is that man?”

Blaise and Millie followed his gaze. Both of them shrugged.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Blaise said without the slightest concern, “But I suppose we’ll have a chance to find out tomorrow during classes, eh?”

At that moment, the food and desserts vanished from the table as suddenly as they had appeared. Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet and with the slightest of gestures brought silence to the hall.

“I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” he began, “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is full of horribly dangerous beasts that want to kill and devour you. Also Hagrid, our gamekeeper, likes to keep pets there. So stay out.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, our caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. It’s like the rule forbidding underage wizards and witches from using magic during holidays. But you know… I wonder when you are supposed to practice your magic if you can neither use it here or at home? Food for thought!

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in hurtling through the air high above the ground with very little safety equipment and absolutely no adult supervision should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few of the students laughed, but it was quickly silenced by the deadpan look on Dumbledore’s face.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “Stay the hell out of there. It’s not safe.”

“Okay!” Professor McGonagall cried as she abruptly jumped to her feet, “Thank you for your words, Professor Dumbledore. Now I think it’s time we bid you students a pleasant evening.”

“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore, the twinkle in his eye returning, “Sleep well! Classes begin tomorrow! Prefects, see that the first years reach their common rooms, and to everyone a good night!”

The students rose en masse and began to shuffle sleepily out of the great hall. A short, bossy looking girl jumped right up on the Slytherin table and bellowed in a voice surprisingly loud for her stature, “Alright, first years! Follow me!”

Harry struggled to keep up with the others. The Slytherin prefect was walking quickly down the length of the table, her head bobbing above the crowd. For everyone else, especially the tiny first years, it was difficult weaving through the dense throng of moving bodies.

Millicent tugged on Harry’s sleeve and pointed to the long table.

“Path of least resistance?” she suggested.

“What?” Harry said, but Millicent just rolled her eyes and pulled him onto the table with her. She, Harry, and Blaise raced down the table toward their prefect, laughing a little at the looks they were getting from other students.

Their prefect nodded proudly once they’d joined her side. “Very good, very good. You guys learn fast. And look! Here’s Harry Potter!”

She gripped Harry’s hand in her own, shaking it enthusiastically without breaking stride. “Gemma Farley. Delighted to meet ‘cha. Now don’t you worry about your reception into Slytherin. We’re so glad to have you! Just forget everything you might have heard about us, you got me? Don’t worry about any of that you-know-who business. We won’t mention it if you don't. Most of us are too young to remember any of the dark times anyway! Amiright? Of course I am. You’re gonna fit in just fine, Harry, I can tell.”

“Um… Thanks.” Harry said. He was just beginning to wonder if Gemma was ever going to give him his hand back when they reached the end of the table. Gemma released him from her grasp and jumped nimbly to the floor. Harry and the others scrambled after her, wondering how someone so short could take such long strides.

“The Slytherin common room is located in the dungeons,” she explained loudly for the other first years to hear, “I know that might not sound so appealing to some of you, but it’s very cool. Just you wait.”

After descending numerous hidden stairways and traveling various twisting hallways, Harry was starting to wonder if they’d gotten lost, and he had no idea how they were supposed to find their way back to the great hall the next morning. Finally, Gemma revealed a hidden passage and ushered them all through.

The Slytherin common room was an incredibly gloomy place. The chairs and tables were all hewn from black wood and upholstered in dark green material. The stone floor was covered in overlapping faded rugs that seemed damp in places. There was very little light to see any of these furnishings by, as the whole room seemed submerged in an eerie green haze. Harry noted that the windows were absolutely black, and was starting to wonder what prevented them from seeing the school grounds, when he realized with a sudden shock that he was staring into the waters of the lake, its depths barely illuminated by the light of the moon.

“ _Lovely_ , isn’t it?” Gemma said adoringly, “Now off to beds! Girls that way, boys the other. Sleep tight and don’t disappoint us in class tomorrow!”

Too tired to argue with Gemma about just how depressing their common room really was, Harry followed Blaise to the boy’s dormitories. Their trunks had already been placed near the hulking four-posters, also made of black wood and draped in heavy green curtains. Harry couldn’t imagine why the curtains were necessary, since no sunlight would reach them in the underwater dungeons.

“Some school, right?” Blaise asked as he tumbled into bed.

Harry was poised to make a cutting remark about the dankness of their chambers, but was interrupted by the appearance of Malfoy and his two cronies. Harry was about to ask them what they were doing in his room, but then he realized that there were three other beds in their dormitory.

“Potter,” Malfoy said curtly.

“Malfoy,” Harry retorted.

“And I'm Zabini,” Blaise said lazily. “And that's Crabbe and Goyle. Lovely. So glad we've been introduced _again_.”

Malfoy shot Blaise a dirty look, then turned resolutely to Harry, “What do you say Potter? We're going to be dorm-mates. It wouldn't hurt to form an alliance. Friends?”

He offered his hand to Harry, just as he had done on the train. Harry stared at him, astonished that Malfoy still wanted to befriend him after insulting Harry's parents, ridiculing the first friend he made, and harassing him throughout the start-of-term banquet.

“Malfoy, I wouldn't be your friend if we were the only two people in Slytherin.”

Blaise gave a loud whoop and tossed his pillow into the air, grinning at Harry with obvious approval. Malfoy looked outraged and quickly lowered his outstretched hand.

“Have it your way, Potter. But you will regret you decision.”

“Oh, stuff it, _Malloy.”_ Blaise said with a dramatic yawn, “It's late, and we have class tomorrow. You can save a bit of your pomposity for another day.”

“It's _Malfoy_ ,” Malfoy hissed before turning his back on them both and motioning to dismiss Crabbe and Goyle. Harry was amazed that the much larger boys waited for this signal before getting ready for bed.

He might have pointed this little detail out to Blaise, but it looked like he was already fast asleep, still dressed in his robes. Harry quickly changed into his pajamas and tumbled into bed. Almost instantly he fell into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was the unusual atmosphere of the Slytherin dorms, but he had bizarre dreams. He dreamt he was wearing the sorting hat again, and it was laughing at him.

 


	2. The Potions Master

“Enough beauty rest, Harry! Time to start our magical education!”

Harry awoke the next day to Blaise's loud voice and the sound of his bed curtains being forcefully ripped open. He was surprised that the morning sun didn't immediately blind him, until he remembered that he was sleeping under a lake. There were enchanted flames burning in sconces set around the room, but the murky light coming in from the windows cast an eerie green glow over everything.

Despite his odd dreams, Harry felt completely refreshed. Today he would start learning magic. He hurriedly pulled on his school robes while Blaise checked over his appearance in an old, ornate mirror fixed to the wall.

“Where are they?” Harry asked, nodding toward the empty beds of Malfoy and his two cronies.

“Followed some third-years down to breakfast. Draco seems to think he's cut out for the Quidditch team and wanted to ask about try-outs, but he's deluding himself. They'll never accept a first-year.”

Blaise stopped his preening and met Harry's eyes in the reflection of the mirror before adding, “I'm surprised he didn't wake you, they way he kept prattling on. To tell the truth, I think he was hoping you'd hear him. Probably wanted to impress you.”

“Why would he want to impress me?” Harry asked, choosing to leave his questions about Quidditch for a later time.

“Are you for real?” Blaise replied.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to this, so he simply joined Blaise by the mirror and made a few feeble attempts to flatten his unruly hair.

“Oh, just leave it, Harry!” Blaise demanded, “It looks better like that, anyway! The last thing you want is to be another Draco Malfoy. He spent forever getting his hair perfectly adhered to his scalp this morning.”

Harry did not need long to decide that Blaise was absolutely right, and soon they were headed down to the common room. A group of first-years were gathered around Gemma Farley and a dour-looking prefect boy. Gemma gave a loud shout and waved cheerfully when she saw Harry, which drew a number of stares from the waiting first-years. The other prefect scowled at him, though Harry had no idea what he could have done to offend him.

“Fantastic!” cried Gemma, “That's Harry Potter joining us! Now off to the Great Hall with all of you!”

Harry realized Gemma must have had everyone waiting for him before they could leave, and he could feel his face redden. In the midst of his embarrassment, his eye traveled naturally to Millicent Bulstrode. It was hard not to see her. She was easily the biggest person in their group, taller and broader than even the fifth-year prefect boy. Gemma, who was very short for fifteen, stood at least a foot shorter than Millicent.

Harry caught her eye and smiled, offering a friendly hello. He had not forgotten the support she had given him against Malfoy the night before. Millicent looked confused an uncomfortable with the sudden attention, but she returned his greeting cordially.

Harry felt Blaise nudge him in the ribs.

“Harry,” he whispered as the group funneled into the hall and began making their way toward breakfast, “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Saying hi to Bulstrode like that!”

“Oh. I was just being friendly.”

“But _why_?”

“Is it wrong to be nice to Bulstrode?”

“Not exactly,” Blaise admitted, though his exasperation was evident in his tone, “But she's not very pretty, is she?”

Harry had to concede that Blaise was right. Harry had seen very few girls who reminded him so strongly of his cousin Dudley. But he didn't see what that had to do with showing a little kindness to one of the few people who wasn't either glaring or gawking at him.

“I like her,” Harry said simply, prompting a bug-eyed stare from Blaise.

He half-expected a rebuke, and was surprised when Blaise shrugged, saying “Have it your way, Harry.”

From an organizational standpoint, Hogwarts had to be the most impractical school in existence. There were one hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts, Gemma Farley happily told everyone the first day, as if this were something to be happy about and not profoundly intimidating.

“You’re bound to be late to almost every class,” Gemma said brightly, “There are stairs with vanishing steps and moving staircases. Oh, there’s even a few that seem to lead absolutely nowhere, but you won’t notice until you’ve been walking up it for ten minutes without seeing any landing! Then there’s the doors pretending to be walls… or was it walls pretending to be doors? Either way, good luck getting into those. If you do get lost for more than twenty minutes at a time, try asking the ghosts for directions. They generally know how to get around.”

Gemma was wrong, of course. The ghosts were almost no help at all. The most they ever succeeded in doing was spontaneously appearing through doors just as Harry was getting ready to open them, thereby leaving him frightened out of his wits.

Once he finally did get to class, he learned that there was a lot more to magic than just saying “abracadabra” and waving your wand. There were still spells with funny words, and plenty of wand-waving in charms, but there were also hours of note-taking on famous sorcerers, magical beasts, astronomy, and the properties of certain herbs.

Some classes were very boring, like History of Magic – the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binn's droning voice threatened to bore his students to death. Harry mused that if the students really were to die of boredom, then there would be a class not only taught by a ghost, but attended by phantoms as well.

Other classes were very interesting, but also difficult. Professor McGonagall turned out to be just as strict and exacting as one would expect, and transfiguration was not an easy subject to master.

“What do we have today?” Harry asked Blaise on Friday morning at the end of their first week.

“Double potions with the Gryffindors.” Blaise said with a smirk. It was no secret between them that Harry had wanted to be in Gryffindor House rather than Slytherin. Blaise considered it something of a joke. “That's Professor Snape's subject. I heard some fifth years saying that he usually favors us, so it should be an easy morning.”

Harry glanced toward the staff table and spied the same greasy-haired teacher from the start-of-term banquet. He had learned over the course of the week that this was Professor Snape, head of Slytherin House. Harry did not experience the same searing pain in his scar as he had when he first met Snape's eye, but then the professor wasn't paying him any attention at the moment.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had been shocked the first day when about a hundred owls flew into the Great Hall to deliver their parcels. It seemed a little unhygienic to him to have birds flying overhead where people were eating food, but the owls turned out to be very polite. By now he was used to their daily appearance, even if he never received any mail himself.

However, this morning was to be different than the others. Hedwig, who had never delivered anything more than dead mice to Harry, fluttered down next to him with a note clamped in her beak. Harry almost thought there had been a mistake. Who could be writing to him? But Hedwig sat before him resolutely, ruffling her feathers with impatience when Harry did not immediately reach for his letter.

“Harry? Aren't you going to see what it is?” Blaise asked, clearly curious to see who had written to his friend. Harry had shared just enough about his life with the Dursleys to inform Blaise that they were not the sort of people to send Harry any post – least of all by owl.

Harry accepted the letter from Hedwig, giving her a little pat of thanks, and proceeded to tear open the envelope. He read the untidy scrawl with difficulty:

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to have a cup of tea with me_

_around three? I want to hear all about how you’re getting on in Slytherin House. Send us an_

_answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

 

“It’s from Hagrid,” said Harry.

“The gamekeeper?” Millicent asked. Much to Blaise's chagrin, Harry had invited her to sit with them during meals every day that week. She was suspicious at first, seemingly baffled by the notion that Harry Potter enjoyed her company, though now she accepted his invitations as a matter of course. “What’s he doing writing you?”

“We’re friends,” Harry explained. He hadn't told either Blaise or Millicent about meeting Hagrid before coming to Hogwarts. “He says he wants to have tea later. Blaise, can I borrow your quill?”

“Friends with the gamekeeper?” said Blaise. He shot a significant look toward Millicent before looking pointedly back at Harry. The message was clear. First Bulstrode, and now Hagrid. “You’re pretty weird, Potter.”

It was lucky Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because his first Potions class gave him plenty to talk about. Professor Snape lived up to his reputation of favoring his own house over the others. However, this same favoritism did not appear to extend to Harry. The pain he’d felt in his scar seemed to be a harbinger of the dislike Snape felt toward Harry, and by the end of class, Harry was quite positive that Snape hated him.

Potions class was held in one of the dungeons, not far from the hidden entrance of Slytherin House. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike gathered in the dark, damp room. It was colder there than in the rest of the school, and Harry began to hope that they would start brewing potions right away, if only to get a little heat from the simmering cauldrons.

Minutes ticked by as the class waited quietly in the creepy potions room, and for a while there was no sign of their professor. When he did finally appear, he sauntered into the room like a specter, his black robes billowing out behind him.

He started his lecture immediately, as if he was carrying on a conversation that started in the hall.

“This class is designed to teach you the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he said, “Most of you will fail. For those of you who have the talent, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even cause death… I mean _stop_ death, of course.”

An uncomfortable silence followed this kind little speech. Snape allowed the silence to continue, forcing the students to marinate in it for several seconds before he suddenly cried out, “Potter!”

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. “Uh, y-yes sir?”

“Potter!” Snape shouted again, sounding alarmed, “Potter, what are you doing here?”

“I… I'm... attending potions class, sir,” Harry stammered. He gave Blaise a panicked glance, but the other boy just shrugged and looked about as confused as he did.

“Ah, yes of course…” Snape muttered, as if Harry’s enrollment was all part of some diabolical scheme set up against him. “Then tell me, Potter. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione Granger’s hand shot up on the Gryffindor side of the room, but Snape did not acknowledge her.

Harry spared a glance at her pathetic attempt to get noticed and said, “I don’t know, sir.”

Snape sneered, “Then let’s try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione stood up from her seat and began waving both arms in the air. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed quietly, “Pick me, pick me!”

Harry shot another look in her direction and rolled his eyes. Snape clearly expected him to answer, so he said, “I don’t know. Diagon Alley?”

A few of the students snickered, but Snape did not look amused. “Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, Potter?” he said. “Tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane.”

At this, Hermione jumped up onto her desk and began performing a short of soft-shoe tap-dance. “Professor Snape!” she sang, “I know the answer!”

Snape steadfastly ignored her. Harry, who had enough of this humiliation, said frankly, “I really don’t know, sir. Why don’t you ask Granger? Something tells me she has an idea.”

The entire class laughed at this last comment, but all laughter ceased immediately when Snape snapped, “Sit down, Granger.”

Hermione did as she was told as Snape rounded again on Harry, “Five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter.”

“But professor!” protested Ron, who was seated next to a Gryffindor classmate Harry didn't recognize, “Harry’s not in Gryffindor! He’s a Slytherin!”

“Another five from Gryffindor, then!” Snape snarled, “I will not have my authority questioned in my own class! You’re a Weasley, aren’t you? I’ve had enough of your whole family! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep silent in my class for the duration of the term!”

This little exchange did nothing to make Harry popular with the Gryffindors. He tried to offer Ron an apologetic glance, but he couldn’t catch his eye.

“Should I talk to the professor?” Harry whispered to Blaise as they began their first potions assignment.

“Don’t bother. Nothing you can do about it now except make things worse.”

An hour later, as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon, Ron caught up with Harry, himself.

“What in bloody hell was that all about!?” he began angrily, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and spinning him around.

Harry threw up his hands defensively, “I’m as confused as you are! Snape must hate me for some reason. I’m sorry he took points off Gryffindor.”

“Oh you're _sorry_? Well, that's not going to get our points back, is it? And why should he take points from Gryffindor because of you? You're a _Slytherin, Potter.”_

Ron spat out the last two words as if they had a bad taste. Harry wasn't sure which was worse, having the fact that he'd been sorted into Slytherin thrown in his face, or hearing Ron call him by his last name. Until this moment, Harry had hoped they could still be friends. Now it seemed that was the furthest thing from Ron's mind.

Blaise stepped between the two of them. Ron was taller, but Blaise held his own with a calm demeanor and a steady glare. “Back off, Weasley. He already said he was sorry.”

Ron looked like he would have said something more, but at that moment Millicent crept up behind him and poked the small of his back with the tip of her wand.

“You’re in my way,” she said quietly, “Move, unless you're the mood for a bat bogey hex.”

For whatever reason, Ron seemed more intimidated by Millicent’s quiet threat than by Blaise’s glare. He turned pale when he felt her wand digging into his spine, and he said nothing more to Harry other than a few stammered words about “no hard feelings.”

“Holy Balrog, Millie!” Blaise said, watching Ron go, “You’ve sure got him running scared! What’d you do to him?”

Millicent shrugged, “I heard him badmouthing Slytherin to that Seamus kid before class. So I told him that both of my parents were Death-Eaters and if I heard him do it again, I’d use one of their dark curses on him.”

Blaise shook his head, “You shouldn’t say that sort of thing to people. That’s how nasty rumors get started.”

“I don’t really care what people think.”

“Um…” interjected Harry, “Sorry, but – What are Death-Eaters?”

Blaise threw his hands into the air, “This is too much, Harry! How can you not know? They were followers of you-know-who!”

“It’s not true about my parents,” Millicent said as Harry eyed her warily, “I only told Weasley that stuff to get him to shut up.”

“Yes, we wouldn't want you saying anything to upset Millie's sparkling reputation,” Blaise said derisively, “But I suppose there’s no use worrying now. The damage is already done, eh? More importantly, what are we going to do with our first free Friday afternoon?”

“Actually, I’d better be going over to Hagrid’s now,” said Harry. “Do you guys want to come with?”

Blaise and Millie looked as if there were several others ways they would prefer to spend the afternoon, but with Harry staring at them with wide-eyed enthusiasm, they were powerless to refuse.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying “Back, Fang – Back!”

Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Quickly, then,” he said as he ushered them inside. He was struggling to keep an enormous black boarhound in check with one hand while holding the door open with another. “Brought a few friends, did’ye Harry? Good, good. Make yerselves at home.”

Hagrid let go of Fang, who bounded straight toward Millicent. She gave him one withering glare which stopped the dog in his tracks. He whined piteously, but seemed to cheer up once Blaise started rubbing him behind his floppy ears.

“These are Blaise and Millicent… Millie,” Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. He glanced tentatively in Millicent’s direction to see how she would react to his use of the nickname Blaise had given her, but she didn’t seem to mind. He figured that must mean he really had been accepted as a friend. And a good thing too, because Millie was starting to seem like someone you didn’t want to cross.

“Not very often I get Slytherin students visitin’ me,” said Hagrid, “Then again, I don’t get much o’ any students visitin’ way out here. ‘Cept those Weasley twins. Can’t keep those two away from the forest. Must have a death wish or summat like that. Anyway, it’s good to have you, Harry. And your friends too.”

The rock cakes were literally rocks covered in flour. Harry wasn’t sure how Hagrid managed to live on such a diet, but he didn’t appear to be playing a joke on him. He and Blaise worked industriously to covertly hide them in their pockets as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons.

“And today we had Potions,” Harry was saying, “And it was just… Bizarre.”

“Bizarre? How so?”

“Well, Professor Snape didn’t seem to like me very much. I think he hates me.”

“Rubbish! Why should he?”

“I don’t know. But he definitely has something against me.”

“Harry’s right,” said Millicent, “You should have been there today. Snape purposely singled Harry out right away. Started asking him all these complicated questions and mocking him.”

“Then he took some points from Gryffindor.” Blaise added.

“Gryffindor? But Harry’s not in Gryffindor.”

Harry, Blaise, and Millicent did nothing but simply look at Hagrid with expressions that seemed to say “yes, we know, we’ve established that already.”

“Well…” said Hagrid lamely, “Nothin’ to be done about it, I’m afraid. Snape’s always been a bit of an oddball, if you ask me. But then every teacher here is a bit of a loon. ‘Cept Dumbledore of course. He’s a genius.”

Hagrid went on for a while about how great Dumbledore was, but while he talked Harry could only think of the start-of-year banquet and Dumbledore’s unusual announcements. The headmaster didn’t seem to be entirely sane himself. Harry was busy ruminating over this thought when Millie tapped his shoulder.

“Have you seen this?” she whispered, and she pushed a newspaper cutting toward him. It was taken from the _Daily Prophet_ and dealt with the Gringrotts break-in Ron had told Harry about on the train.

 

**Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringrotts on 31 July,**

**widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.**

**Gringrotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The**

**Vault that was searched had in fact been emptied that same day.**

 

Harry read the first sentence again. “Hagrid! That Gringrotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

Blaise and Millie looked at Hagrid with interest, but Hagrid refused to meet their eyes.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” he said evasively, “Something like that couldn’t have happened, could it? Breaking in in broad daylight… It’s enough they could break into Gringrotts at all! No, must’ve happened after hours, when the place was empty. Thas the only explanation. Besides, if it had happened while we were there then we would’ve run right… Er…”

“What, Hagrid?” pressed Harry. “What would we have run into?”

“Nuthin’! I didn’t say nuthin’! Now look at the time already! You kids had better be headed back before you miss your dinner. Unless you’d rather have some more cakes?”

“No thanks!” said Blaise, jumping up quickly. “We’ll see you later, Hagrid!”

As they walked back to the castle, Harry explained to the others about how his trip to Gringrotts was related to the break-in.

“The article said the vault that was broken into had been emptied that same day,” Millie commented after Harry had finished his story. “Any chance it was the vault Hagrid visited?”

“I suppose,” Harry said, “But all that was in there was this little brown package.”

Blaise nodded, “My mum's always saying that some of the most powerful magical artifacts are small and unassuming. Whatever it was must’ve been pretty important to be held in a Gringrott’s vault all by itself.”

“Yeah, but if it was so important, why would Dumbledore send Hagrid to pick it up?” Millie asked. “No offense, but Hagrid seems a little scatterbrained, doesn’t he? Putting him in charge of something that important… It’s like asking him to babysit. Would you trust him with a baby?”

 


	3. The Flying Lesson

The biggest problem with being in Slytherin was that it was impossible to get away from Draco Malfoy. It was bad enough having to share a dormitory without seeing him in the common room every day. Of course, they shared every class as well. To make matters even worse, it seemed that Malfoy went out of his way to bother Harry. He was sure to be seated within earshot during every meal, and managed to bump into Harry in the library so often it couldn't be mere coincidence.

“Oh hello there, Potter,” Malfoy said in the common room one day. He was trying to sound casual, despite the fact that he had been standing nearby for the past fifteen minutes, loudly bragging about his flying skills to anyone who would listen and casting desperate glances Harry’s way to see if he’d caught his attention. Harry ignored him, of course, but Malfoy proved to be resilient. “Don’t know if you saw the notice. We’ll be starting our flying lessons this Thursday.”

“Yeah. I saw it, Malfoy.”

“I’m an excellent flier, myself,” Malfoy continued, “The lessons will probably be useless to me. Though I am concerned about the brooms they give us. I heard half of them won’t even fly.”

Harry grunted.

“It’s a real pity they don’t let first years have their own brooms. Bloody stupid idea if you ask me.”

Harry grunted again. He was starting to sound more like Crabbe and Goyle with each passing minute. He supposed this was simply the effect Malfoy had on people. Weeks of classes with them and Harry was certain he'd heard neither Crabbe nor Goyle utter a single word. Malfoy did all the talking.

“Of course, my father would have bought me a Nimbus 2000 if I'd gotten on the Slytherin team this year. But they never let first years play, even one as talented as I am.”

“Oh my god, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted with an exasperated sigh, “Does that really work for you? I mean, this whole braggy attitude of yours? Is that how you usually make friends?”

Malfoy stared at Harry as if he’d been slapped in the face.

“Well… Yes, usually,” he admitted. “Are you saying you aren’t impressed?”

“Not really. No.”

Malfoy sniffed and brought himself up to his full height, which was not very substantial. “Well then, I suppose you must think yourself an excellent flier. I must say I’m surprised, since I hear you were raised by _muggles._ But then I suppose nothing’s too difficult for the _Famous Harry Potter_.”

“That’s right.” Harry said with a lot more confidence than he felt. In truth, he was both excited and terrified by the idea of flying. Every time he thought about it his stomach became so twisted with conflicting emotions that he felt like he was going to throw up. He just hoped that wouldn’t happen while hovering above the heads of the other students.

“What do you suppose it will be like?” Harry asked his friends at breakfast on the morning of their first lesson.

Blaise smeared marmalade on a piece of toast while he thought.

“Well, I’m going to be amazing, of course. Born on the back of broomstick, I was. And I’m not kidding. Bit difficult for my mum, as you can imagine. But that’s a story for another day. Millie will end up breaking her poor broom over her knee out of frustration and envy. And as for you, Harry. I expect you’ll fall off and break every bone in your body. But don’t worry. I hear Madame Pomfrey has a potion for everything.”

Blaise’s confidence in the abilities of his friends did nothing to soothe Harry’s concerns as they waited on the Quidditch field for the first flying lesson. Harry had never seen anything like it. The field was a large oval, bordered by tall, thin towers. Harry stared up at the massive structures and swallowed the lump that was forming in this throat.

The Gryffindors were scheduled to share this class with them. They trickled onto the field soon after the arrival of the Slytherins, many looking just as nervous as Harry felt. Harry noticed Ron Weasley immediately, though the red-haired boy avoided eye-contact. Harry hadn’t spoken to him since Millicent threatened him after potions class, and he still felt a bit guilty. The odds of rekindling his friendship with Weasley seemed pretty slim now.

When their teacher, Madame Hooch arrived, she started barking orders immediately.

“What are you waiting for?” she said sharply, “All of you, stand next to a broom! Everyone have one? Good, now stick your right hand over the broom and say _up!_ ”

“UP!” the students chorused obediently.

Harry was thrilled when his broom leapt directly into his hand. His was one of the few that did. Most of the brooms stayed firmly on the ground, rolling slightly from side to side. Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor who seemed unusually accident prone, wound up with a broom that slapped him sharply in the face before falling back to the ground. Harry turned to see that Blaise was one of the lucky few who had his broom up on the first try. He grinned at Harry and winked. Harry wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue in response.

“Come on! Those of you who haven’t got it try again!” Madam Hooch commanded.

The students again did as they were bid, crying out “Up!” at random intervals. Harry suppressed a giggle when he saw that Millicent’s broom was proving to be unusually stubborn, until she glared at it and hissed “ _Up!”_ in a tone that allowed for no arguments. The broom jumped into her hand instantly and remained there, trembling as if afraid.

Once they all had their brooms in hand, Madame Hooch showed them all how to mount without sliding off the end. She had to correct Malfoy’s grip several times because he kept insisting that he knew the proper way to do it. Finally she gave up, saying, “Fine, if you want to go rocketing headfirst into the side of the castle, then be my guest. I dare say no one will miss you.”

“My father will…” Malfoy muttered as she moved on to other students.

“Somehow I doubt that,” Blaise whispered to Harry.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard,” said Madame Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward _slightly_. On my whistle… Three – Two – ”

But Longbottom, nervous and unwilling to fly since the class began, pushed off too soon. Ironically, it was he alone who rose like a shot above the heads of his classmates, leaving solid earth far behind.

“Boy, come back here!” shouted Madame Hooch. But it was clear that Neville didn’t have much control over his current situation. The class watched in horror as he gasped, tilted sideways on his broom, and fell to the ground with a heavy THUD. His broomstick, bored with the proceedings, continued to drift away toward the Forbidden Forest, never to be seen again.

Madame Hooch was at Neville’s side in a flash, followed closely by a group of concerned Gryffindors. Harry and the other Slytherins followed as well, mostly out of curiosity, though they hung back from the others.

“Broken wrist…” Harry managed to hear Madame Hooch say quietly before she turned to address the rest of the class, “Listen up! I’m going to take this boy to the hospital wing! Now I know you’re all only eleven years old and you probably don’t have much sense to share between you, but if you value your stay here at Hogwarts you’ll keep your feet firmly on the ground until I get back! I’m serious! I see one broom in the air and I’ll expel the lot of you!”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said to Blaise and Millicent as Madame Hooch swept away. “Why doesn’t she just cancel class? Or at least send one of us with Neville instead of going herself?”

“Completely mad, every teacher here,” said Blaise offhandedly.

Malfoy suddenly burst into laughter. “Did you see his face, the great lump?”

A few of the other Slytherins chucked along with Malfoy, though Harry’s group was not among them.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said a Gryffindor Harry recognized as Parvati Patil.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard faced Slytherin girl who actually seemed to _like_ Malfoy. Harry thought they’d be perfect for each other as she continued to say, “Never thought _you’d_ like fat little crybabies.”

“Look!” cried Malfoy, dashing forward. He stooped down and picked up something shiny in the grass. “It’s that stupid thing of Longbottom’s.”

Harry looked at the object in Malfoy’s hand. It seemed to be nothing more than a clear orb, but Harry was starting to learn that looks could be deceiving in the magical world. He had no idea what it was, but he did know how much he disliked Draco Malfoy.

“Give it back, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. Everyone abruptly stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled with mock sweetness, “Do you want it, Potter?”

“I don’t even know what it is. Just give it back.”

“To who? Longbottom? He’s long gone. Maybe I should leave it somewhere for him to find. How about… Up a tree?”

“You heard Harry. Give it here, Malfoy!” Blaise yelled, but Malfoy had jumped onto his broom and sped away. Turns out he hadn’t exactly been lying about being able to fly well. He was soon balanced high above the others, floating level with the lowest of the Quidditch hoops.

“Fancy a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he called down mockingly.

Harry grabbed his broom and mounted it.

“No!” shouted Hermione Granger from the cluster of Gryffindors, “Didn't you hear what Madame Hooch said? You’ll get us all expelled!”

Harry ignored her. He tightened his grip on the handle of his rickety broom and kept his eyes locked on Malfoy’s distant form. Just as he was about to push off, Millicent muttered at his side, “Harry… You don’t know how to _fly_.”

Harry rose off the ground unsteadily, but too fast to stop. And he kept rising. He suddenly understood very clearly exactly what Neville must have felt only moments before. Realizing that it was too late to go back now, Harry turned his attention again to Malfoy, who had stopped showing off for a moment to watch Harry with interest.

Somehow Harry managed to stop the broom’s ascent once he was level with Malfoy. They stared at each other, a few yards apart, while Harry tried to figure out what to do next.

“Give it to me or I’ll knock you off your broom!” Harry said in desperation, hardly knowing if he’d even be able to move the broom forward.

Malfoy must have heard the uncertainly in Harry’s voice, because he sneered and tossed the orb into the air, catching it again with one hand. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you come over here and say that to me?”

Harry had no idea what he was doing, but he was starting to feel a little unsteady on his broom. Acting on instinct, Harry tightened his grip on the broom and leaned over the handle, trying to prevent himself from falling. Suddenly, he was rocketing toward Malfoy. The other boy barely had time to move out of the way. Harry straightened up quickly and willed the broom to slow down again, then he pivoted to face Malfoy in a way that must have looked very stylish from the ground, but was purely an accident on Harry’s part.

“I won’t miss next time, Malfoy,” Harry said with false bravado, “No Crabbe and Goyle to save your skin up here.”

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy actually looked shaken. In an effort to muster the same cavalier attitude as Harry, he shrugged and held up the orb once again.

“Have it your way, then. Catch.”

Harry watched as Malfoy chucked the orb as far as he could before racing back to the ground. Before Harry realized what was happening, he had tilted forward on his broom. Suddenly he found himself plummeting toward the ground, the screams of the students watching below ringing in his ears. Harry, unable to pull out of the dive, saw that just ahead of him the orb was glittering. It seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he figured if he kept going like he was, he just might be able to catch it before they both hit the ground. Harry stretched out his hand, willing his broom to move faster, but he was still too far away.

Harry found himself urging the broom to move faster still. He leaned farther over the front of his broom, stretching his arm out as far as it would go, willing his fingers to grow just a bit longer to catch the little glittering orb. Harry started to panic when he saw the ground rising to meet him, but he was so close... Seconds before impact, he felt the cool glass surface with his fingertips and snatched it out of the air. He pulled at the handle to lift himself up again, reversing the dive. Breathless from his near collision with the ground, he allowed his feet to drop beneath him and anchor himself once again to solid earth.

He was just in time to hear a stern voice shout, “HARRY POTTER!”

His heart sank and he wished he hadn’t survived the fall. It was Professor McGonagall running out to meet him. Her eyes flashed furiously behind her glasses as she swooped down upon him. She was nearly speechless with anger. “Never… In all my years…! Could have killed yourself!” was all she managed to say.

“Don’t be mad, Professor!” Blaise shouted as he and the other students ran toward them, “It wasn’t Harry’s fault!”

“Yes it was!” Ron Weasley yelled, “He stole Neville's rememberall!”

“You liar!” Millicent screeched, giving Ron a look that turned his face white as a ghost, “Malfoy’s the one that took it!”

“Well maybe Harry and his friends shouldn’t play catch with other people’s things!” spat Parvati Patil.

“Quiet! All of you!” commanded professor McGonagall. “I don’t care who’s responsible! To be flying like that! And without supervision! Potter, you follow me. The rest of you go back to your common rooms! If I see even one of you in the air again, you’ll be spending the rest of your time here at Hogwarts as a pig!”

To emphasize her intent, McGonagall whipped out her wand and transformed all of their brooms to toothpicks with just a flick of her wrist.

Harry caught sight of Malfoy’s triumphant face as he was dragged away by the professor. His last fleeting hope as he headed to what was no doubt his expulsion was that Blaise and Millie would avenge him.

McGonagall was hard to keep up with as she strode into the castle. Harry had to jog to keep pace with her, and if he started to fall behind her nails would dig into his arm where she kept her firm grip on him.

“Professor… Do you mind letting me go? I’m not going to run away or anything. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

He was trying to make his voice as pitiful as possible. Maybe if he played to McGonagall’s sympathies she wouldn’t destroy him. But if he was looking for pity he was talking to the wrong person.

Without lessening her grip, McGonagall asked, “Was that your first time on a broom, Mr. Potter?”

“Y-yes…”

“Hm. It is a pity...”

“Professor?”

“Well frankly, Potter, you have talent. You lack experience, but the way you pulled out of that dive was astonishing.”

Harry didn't know what to say. He was expecting Professor McGonagall to transform him into something unpleasant, not compliment him on his flying.

“… Well, to be honest with you, Professor, I was mostly trying not to die.”

“Did I hear Weasley say you had something of Longbottom's?”

Harry passed her the little glass orb.

“And did you steal it?”

“No.” Harry said simply. “I caught it.”

“You caught it? This is what you were after with that dive?”

“Yes. But do you mind giving it back? I'd like to return it to Longbottom, if I could. He's in the hospital wing.”

McGonagall stared at him with an unfathomable expression, and Harry was left feeling that he had made some kind of mistake. He lowered his head and stared at his shoes in an attitude of repentance.

They were no longer rushing at breakneak speed through the corridors. McGonagall had paused in the middle of the hall to inspect Harry. She was quiet for a few moments before she said, “Your father was an excellent Quidditch player, you know.”

Harry's head snapped up and he stared at her in surprise. He'd never thought about the possibility of any of his teachers knowing his parents, but of course they had both been students at Hogwarts themselves. Harry opened his mouth to ask McGonagall if she had taught his father when a dark figure swept in front of them.

“Something the matter, Minerva?” Snape asked coolly, eyeing Harry with suspicion.

“Severus, I was just on my way to see you,” said McGonagall, and Harry's heart plummeted. It made sense for her to take Harry to his head of house for punishment, but Snape was the least likely person in the whole school to show Harry any leniency. Harry seemed to be the only Slytherin that Snape couldn't stand.

“I caught Potter flying without supervision on the Quidditch pitch. I thought I would refer him to you, as he's a member of your house.”  
Snape broke off from glaring at Harry to blink at McGonagall in surprise. “My house?” he echoed.

“Yes, Severus,” McGonagall said, her eyes closing in exasperation, “Harry Potter is in Slytherin. I hope as his head of house you will think of an appropriate punishment for him?

“Ah, yes... Fifty points from Gryffindor, then.”

“ _Slytherin_ , Severus.”

“What did I say?”

“You said Gryffindor. How many times must I explain that Potter was sorted into Slytherin?”

Snape frowned. He wouldn’t look at Harry. “Fine... Ten points from Slytherin.”

McGonagall looked shocked, “Is that all? Severus, he has seriously misbehaved. Riding a broom, unsupervised; he could have killed himself!”

“Really?” asked Snape, sounding slightly disappointed that this isn’t exactly what had come to pass.

McGonagall glared at him, “He deserves a proper punishment, Severus. Detention would be a nice place to start.”

“Minerva, if you have such strong ideas about how to discipline my students, by all means he's at your disposal,” Snape said icily. It seemed the only thing he disliked more than Harry was being bossed around by Professor McGonagall. His eyes, full of dislike, flickered again in Harry's direction before he continued, “At any rate, it would be my pleasure to assign Potter detention.”

“Fine. Then if you don't mind taking over from here, I believe one of my own students is in the hospital wing. I'll be going to have a look at him.”

Snape waved her away with what Harry considered to be a stunning display of disrespect. He never would have dared speak to Professor McGonagall in that way, and he found himself slightly impressed by Snape's daring. He expected Snape to say something to him about his detention as McGonagall walked away, but Snape was already sweeping off in the opposite direction.

“Er... Professor?” Harry asked uncertainly, running to catch up with Snape's longer stride.

Snape looked both shocked and appalled to see that Harry was following him. “What… Is it… Potter?” He hissed between his teeth as if each word was painful for him to pronounce.

“It’s just that… Well… Thank you. I thought I was going to be expelled for sure.”

“Save your breath, Potter. I didn’t do it for you!” declared Snape, and he swept away again without another word.

* * *

 

“You have got to be joking.”

Blaise and Millicent stared at Harry from across the dining table. Harry had just finished telling them the whole story of what had happened that afternoon, from leaving the Quidditch field up to his odd conversation with Snape. His friends had listened with little interruption all the way through, carefully silencing their comments with mouthfuls food. Harry’s plate sat empty before him. He didn’t feel like eating.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment, “I don't understand it either. If he wasn't doing it to help me, then why did he do it for? It's obvious he hates me.”

“Yeah, what's with that anyway?” Blaise asked, “He doesn't have a problem with any of the other Slytherins.”

“I think maybe he doesn't realize I'm in his house?” Harry guessed, “So he's treating me like a Gryffindor or something?”

“Did he say anything about detention?” asked Millicent.

“No... Maybe he forgot?”

Blaise and Millie shrugged and continued to eat their food for a few moments in silence, mulling over separate thoughts. Blaise suddenly gave Harry a wide grin.

“You caught the Rememberall, though. That dive was amazing.”

Millicent scoffed, “Dive? It’s called falling, Blaise. Muggles can do it just as well.”

“Unbelievable!”

Harry and the others jumped. Ron Weasley was standing just behind Harry, glaring at him with a hateful expression on his face. For a moment Harry thought he’d overheard their conversation and was jealous, but it soon became apparent that such was not the case.

“Why aren’t you on a train headed back home? You should’ve gotten expelled for that little stunt today!”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Harry protested. But Ron wasn’t listening.

“I think I’m starting to see why the hat put you in Slytherin. You’re all the same!”

Harry heard Blaise and Millicent stand up. He didn’t need to turn around to guess what kind of expressions they had on their faces.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Millicent asked.

“If you have a problem with us, Weasley, I can think of a few ways to settle it,” Blaise said threateningly.

Ron, thin and gangling but unusually tall for an eleven-year old, did not appear intimidated. His glare flickered between Harry and Blaise as he said, “Alright. Wizard duel. Midnight. The Trophy Room.”

Harry had never heard of a wizard duel before, but he thought he had a pretty good idea of what it would entail. He was also pretty sure that he hadn't learned enough spells to really be a good duelist, unless making Ron's nose slightly smaller could be considered useful. But he was saved from having to turn down Ron's offer by Blaise, who again stepped up to defend Harry.

“Wizard duel!” Blaise shouted laughingly, drawing the stairs of several surrounding students, “Why wait? I'm sure Millie could take you on right now.”

Ron had seemingly forgotten about the hulking figure of Millicent. He jumped in fright when he turned to look at her, her quiet glare doing more to intimidate Ron than Blaise's words ever could.

“She's brilliant at hexes,” Blaise continued, “But even better at good old-fashioned fisticuffs. What do you say, Weasley? Care for a brawl?”

Ron's freckled face flushed scarlet and he took a few steps back from the table, muttering a few curses under his breath. His eyes met Harry's again, and he scowled.

“Nice friends you have there, Potter. Glad to see you fit in so well.”

He walked away before Harry had time to respond. Harry watched him sulk off to the Gryffindor table, where he planted himself between two other first-years and begin talking with them – about Harry, he was certain. His anger hurt Harry, who still desperately wanted to be friends again. But he was also angry at the injustice of Ron's accusations. Perhaps his insinuation would have insulted Harry at the beginning of the year, but now he didn't mind. It wasn't an insult to fit in with Blaise and Millie.

“Forget him, Harry,” Millicent said, mistaking Harry's silence for sadness, “There's something else I wanted to talk about, anyway.”

“Something other than Harry's amazing flying skills or Snape's many peculiarities?” Blaise asked. “I can't imagine what it could be.”

“Actually, it's about that package. The one Harry saw Hagrid take out of Gringrotts.”

Millicent had Harry's full attention, but Blaise shushed her immediately.

“Don't talk about it here!” he cautioned, jerking his thumb toward Malfoy. As usual, he was sitting only a few seats down the table from them. Harry saw him turn away, but it was obvious he had been listening to their conversation.

“C'mon,” said Harry, standing up from his seat. He wanted to hear what Millicent had to say, and he wasn't about to wait around for a better time. Knowing that Malfoy wouldn't risk following them out of the Great Hall, Harry led his friends away. He would have walked straight back to the common room, but Blaise soon took the lead. Together the three of them walked outdoors and down to the edge of the lake. Here Blaise stopped, out in the open.

“There. Now no one can sneak up on us. You were saying, Millie?”

Harry turned to look at Millicent with interest, hoping what whatever she had to say about the mysterious package warranted the hike they had just made to prevent being overheard.

“Well, I've been thinking. Hagrid said he was picking up the package for Dumbledore, right?”

Harry nodded. They had puzzled over the parcel many times since first hearing about the Gringotts break-in. Usually it was just something to talk about when they were bored of homework. But Harry had managed to convince himself and his friends that the attempted robbery of the goblin bank had been connected to Hagrid's errand that day. It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Millicent took a deep breath and said, “I think whatever it is, it's hidden somewhere in the school.”

Harry and Blaise glanced at each other. Harry didn't want to admit that he had been thinking the same thing, but he did want to hear what Millicent had to say to support her theory.

“Evidence?” Blaise asked.

“Dumbledore must have known someone was going to try to steal it,” said Millicent, “So he had Hagrid go pick it up.”

“Obvious,” said Blaise. They had covered this ground already.

“Right. But Gringotts is supposed to be impenetrable. It's never been broken into like this before. So if Dumbledore thought someone was going to attempt a robbery anyway, where would he have placed the package that would be safer than Gringotts?”

“Here?” asked Harry with incredulity, “But this is a school! Why should it be any safer here than at the wizard bank?”

Millicent shrugged, “Well, Dumbledore could keep a closer eye on it here than he could if it's locked in a vault somewhere.”

Blaise began nodding his head vigorously, “And Hogwarts is one of the most enchanted buildings in Europe. It's supposedly got secret rooms and corridors no one has ever explored before. There would be plenty of places to hide something...”

“But what's he hidden anyway?” Harry asked. They had spent many an afternoon trying to pry this information out of Hagrid, but he always seemed to suddenly have a chore that needed completing at that very moment whenever they mentioned it, and he would shoo them away.

“Not what, but where?” Millicent noted, “It like Blaise said. The castle has a lot of hiding places.”

“I've got it!” Blaise suddenly cried in a moment of inspiration, “The forbidden corridor!”

“Huh?” Harry and Millie chorused in unison.

“The one on the third floor! Dumbledore warned us all that it's off limits this year. The older students all say that it wasn't that way last year. He must have it hidden there!”

Harry didn't need any more convincing. They still didn't know what had been hidden, but he felt certain that his friends were right. The small, grubby package he'd last seen shoved in Hagrid's pocket was now lying somewhere in the forbidden corridor.

But what did it have to do with him?

“I wish we knew what it was.” Harry commented wistfully.

“We could check it out,” Blaise said, a mischievous grin overspreading his features, “Sneak out after dark and check the corridor while everyone is sleeping?”

“With Malfoy in the room with us? You know he'd just wake up and spoil everything.”

“Alright, then Millie can go check.”

Millicent looked appalled, “I'm not going by myself!”

Blaise threw his hands in the air and began walking back toward the school, “Alright, fine! You two are no fun.”

Harry and Millicent exchanged a look and began racing back toward the castle after their friend.

“You know,” said Millicent, “It's probably booby trapped anyway.”

 


	4. Halloween

The day finally came when Professor Flitwick announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly. The students were put into pairs to practice. Harry found himself partnered with Millicent, which made him slightly nervous. Millie was incredibly gifted when it came to hexes and jinxes, but was stunningly awful at charms. It was a fact that often led her to get frustrated during class, sometimes with disastrous consequences.

Harry cast an imploring glance toward Blaise, who snickered at his plight. He didn't have long to laugh at Harry's expense, as he was quickly paired off with Draco Malfoy. Harry suppressed his own laughter at the look of dismay that overspread Blaise's features.

“Now, don't forget that wrist movement we've been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick. He was a minuscule man, and had to deliver this speech from the top of a pile of spell-books. “Swish and flick!”

He lifted his arm in a demonstration of the movement, inviting students to practice the correct form themselves. Harry watched a few sparks skip out of the end of Millie's wand with apprehension.

“Very good!” Professor Flitwick said. He hadn't noticed Millicent's pyrotechnic display. “And saying the magic words properly is very important as well! Remember, _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ”

It was very difficult. Harry was too preoccupied with keeping Millie's temper in check to really focus on making their feather fly. Though perhaps if he manged it, he could give her the credit and fend off a possible magic fit.

“Did you see that?” Millie asked, “I think it moved just a little, don't you?”

Harry was of the opinion that the draft caused by all their swishing and flicking was the result of the slight shift of their feather, but he quickly agreed that they were certainly making progress. He felt slightly better upon seeing that Malfoy was struggling just as much as them.

“ _Wingardriam Levioosa_!” he shouted, waving his arm about and doing very little to move his feather.

Blaise watched him with a smile on his face, head resting in one hand, elbow propped on the desk. “You're saying it wrong, Draco.”

“Well, why don't you give it a try?” Malfoy whined, “You've done nothing but sit there watching me for the past ten minutes!”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” Blaise said with a lazy flick of his wand. Harry was astonished to see the feather not only rise off the desk, but float with an easy grace over the heads of the students. It finally came to rest directly on top of Professor Flitwick's head.

“What? What's this? Who's...? Ah, Mr. Zabini! Yes, well done! See here, everyone, Mr. Zabini has got the hang of it! Five points to Slytherin!”

Malfoy made a sour expression, adding to Harry's pleasure at his friend's success. Millie, however, looked just as displeased as Malfoy.

“Show off...” she muttered so that only Harry could hear.

Harry gave her a sympathetic smile. “Relax, you know he'll teach us both how to do it as soon as class is over.”

And he was right. Blaise was perfectly happy to describe his spell-casting process to his friends, though they had to wade through all the boasting to get at any useful information.

“Sure, charms are easy. Once you've got the hang of one or two, you basically can figure out how to do them all,” he bragged, sounding more like a man who had been practicing wandwork over a long career and not a boy of eleven who had only been studying magic for two months. “The movement and the pronunciation are all well and good, but it's the _feeling_ more than anything else. You just have to know what you want to do, and know that you can do it.”

To demonstrate, he pointed his wand at a passing Ravenclaw and said “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” Harry and Millie laughed as the back of the boy's robes flew up over his head.

“See? Easy as flying.”

“Is that another thing I'm supposed to find easy?” Millie asked, her expression suddenly dark. Four more sessions of flying class, and her performance was still abysmal at best. Harry and Blaise exchanged a look, wondering if they were both in for a bat-bogey hex, but then Millie broke into a smile.

“Only joking,” she said. “Show me that movement again.”

They spent most of the afternoon between classes working out spells, dodging teachers so as not to be caught practicing in the halls. Harry had also promised to give special flying lessons to Blaise and Millie, though he wasn't sure how they, as first-years, were going to get their hands on a broom to practice with.

They were still brain-storming ideas for how to break into the broom storage closet as they headed down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, but the grand holiday decorations quickly blasted any rule-breaking activities far from their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low, black clouds, causing the candles in the many jack-o-lanterns to sputter. The usual banquet fare had already appeared on the long dining tables, though this time there was the added treat of pumpkin pasties, cockroach clusters, and other sweet treats. Harry and his friends settled down at the Slytherin table, each with wide grins on their faces. Clearly, no one knew how to celebrate All-Hallows Eve quite like a bunch of witches and wizards.

Harry was trying to decide if he wanted to start with dessert or save if for later when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, turban askew and terror on his face.

“Troll!” he screeched in a voice so loud it immediately silenced all other conversation in the hall. “Troll in the dungeons!”

He came to a sudden stop halfway toward the staff table, as if his legs would no longer carry him, and sank to the floor.

“Thought you ought to know,” he gasped, then fell flat on his face in a dead faint.

Screams of terror broke out among the students. Harry did not join in the general din, though he also felt terrified. Professor Quirrell had recently taught his first-year students a little about trolls during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry knew enough now to realize they were not creatures he was keen on meeting.

Professor Dumbledore fired off several purple firecrackers to restore order, or at least to put an end to the uproar.

“Prefects,” he said into the sudden silence, “lead your houses back to the dormitories. Teachers, follow me to the dungeons.”

The prefects from the other three houses sprung into action immediately, barking orders and filing the students out of the hall in neat lines. The Slytherin house remained rooted to their seats, looking at one another in fright. There was a very serious problem with Dumbledore's plan. The entrance to the Slytherin common room was located in the dungeons.

“What do we do?” cried Pansy Parkinson, appealing to their own house prefects.

For once, Gemma Farley looked to be at a loss for words. Her eyes were wide and her face was very pale, but to her credit, her voice was steady when she spoke. “We wait here. The teachers are going to the dungeon now to take care of the troll. We'll all stay right here until they come back.”

Most of the students seemed appeased by this plan, but Harry and his friends exchanged wary glances. What if the troll hadn't stayed in the dungeon? Or worse, what if there was more than one? Harry wasn't sure how a troll could have crept into Hogwarts in the first place. They weren't supposed to be very intelligent creatures. But if one managed to get in, couldn't there be another?

“We should ask Snape,” Millie said, “He's head of house. He'll know what to do.”

“Brilliant. Except Snape's gone down to the dungeon with all the other teachers to hunt a troll!” said Blaise.

Millie shook her head, “No he hasn't. I saw him slip out that door.”

She pointed her finger at the entrance to another corridor to the right of the staff table. Harry had never been back there before, but he had seen the teachers come and go through it during meals.

“Where do you suppose he's gone off to?” asked Blaise.

“I don't know,” said Harry, “But we're about to find out.”

Compelled by a combination of curiosity and fear for what would happen to them if they stayed with the others, Harry jumped up from the table and headed straight for the corridor. He half expected Gemma or one of the other prefects to stop him, or perhaps one of his friends would think he was crazy and put an end to his plan. But somehow in the chaos no one noticed him sidle through the door. Blaise and Millie were right behind him, no questions asked.

The corridor was just a hall like any other. Snape was no where in sight. Harry didn't pause to wonder which way he'd gone, he simply proceeded to jog down the hallway, glancing around corners for a sign of Snape's whereabouts as he went. Blaise had caught up to him in a moment. He could have outran Harry with his longer stride, but he kept pace with him instead. Harry could hear Millie's heavy tread behind them as she uncomplainingly thundered along in their wake.

The corridor eventually led them to a familiar part of the castle. They were close to the moving staircases, and Harry could actually hear the sounds of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students hurrying toward their common rooms. Harry stopped short of joining the crowd, glancing left and right for some clue as to where Snape had gone.

“Harry!” Millie whispered urgently. Harry and Blaise both turned to look at her. Millie had stopped a few paces from them and was pointing down a dark, deserted corridor that Harry had passed without a thought.

“It's close. The forbidden corridor.”

Harry and Blaise glanced at one another, and Harry knew his friends were thinking the same thing.

“You don't think Snape...?” Blaise started to ask, but he didn't need to finish the thought, Harry was already directing his footsteps toward the corridor that would take them to the third floor, and the location of the forbidden chamber.

They were just in time. Snape was standing at the entrance to the forbidden corridor, his wand at the ready. Acting on instinct, Harry stopped his friends with a wave of his hand, and together they peered around the corner to watch Snape, wondering what he would do next.

Snape glanced from side to side, as if checking to see if the coast was clear. Harry watched him point his wand at the doorknob and murmur, “ _Alohamora_.”

There was an audible click as the door unlatched, and Snape gripped the knob to pull it open fully. Harry struggled to see what was located in the darkness of the chamber beyond, but it was impenetrable. Silence reigned for a moment as Snape stepped forward cautiously.

“ _Lumos_ ,” he said in his bored, sonorous voice, and his wand tip ignited.

Harry couldn't hold back his gasp of shock. Blaise stumbled backward and Millie uttered a curse. Illuminated by the glow of Snape's wand was the head of not one, but three massive dogs. Snape heard their noise in the quiet corridor and he turned fiercely on the spot.

“Who's there?” he demanded, but his sharp voice disturbed the sleeping canines. With a chorus of angry growls the beast stood up, and Harry realized that what he thought were three individual hell-hounds was really three heads attached to one monstrous body.

Snape didn't have time to react. The dog lunged at him, one of its gigantic mouths closing around Snape's left leg. Snape gave a cry of pain and fell to the ground as the beast dragged him further into the dark corridor, his wand flying out of his grasp and clattering to the stone floor.

Harry didn't think, he just sprinted down the hall, tearing his own wand from the pocket of robes and pointing it at the beast. But in his panic, no spells came to mind. What was he supposed to use against a three-headed dog?

There was no time to be indecisive. Wand still gripped tightly in his hand, Harry threw himself after Snape and manged to grip onto his teacher's black robes. He kicked the snout of one of its heads, and the dog released Snape with a yelp. Harry began to drag Snape away, but the dog's other two heads were now turning toward him, furious at the violence he'd used against the first.

Harry was sure they were both goners, until he heard the voices of his friends shouting from just behind him.

“ _Incendio_!” Millie roared. A stunningly bright tongue of flame burst from her wand. It lashed out at the dog, whose three heads yelped in fear and outrage rather than pain as it cowered away from the blast.

While Millie fended them off with her well-aimed jinx, Blaise grabbed on to Snape and helped Harry pull him to safety. Once they were clear of the door, Millie ceased her fire spell and Blaise slammed the door shut again.

“ _Colloportus,_ ” he gasped, short of breath, and Harry heard the latch click shut again, sealing the door. He could still hear the growls of the beast on the other side.

The three students looked to their teacher. Snape was panting heavily. He seemed more than a little dazed by the attack. His leg was covered in blood and had an unpleasant, mangled look about it. It might even have been broken.

“Professor,” said Harry cautiously, “Are you alright?”

Snape snapped back to the present in an instant and turned toward Harry with an expression of utter loathing, mixed with just a splash of amazement.

“Potter! What exactly do you think you and your friends are doing?”

“Er... Saving your life?” Harry guessed.

Snape's pale face turned purple with rage, “You should be in your dormitories! And this is the forbidden corridor! Stepping foot in this hall is grounds for expulsion!”

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Was Snape really going to lecture them for saving his life?

“If we hadn't followed you, that dog would be tearing you to shreds right now!” he protested.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Snape seethed, “And don't you dare speak of what you saw here. Be thankful that I'm not sending you back to your muggle family!”

“Wait, Professor!” Blaise interrupted, “Harry's right! We were only trying to find out what to do since the troll was in the dungeon! And it's lucky we did. Otherwise... What might have happened?”

Snape glared at him, but begrudgingly added, “Fine. Ten points to you Ms. Bulstrode for your excellent use of the fire-making charm. And to you as well, Mr. Zabini. I had no idea Professor Flitwick taught the locking charm this early in his course.

“He doesn't,” Blaise said with a touch of his usual pride, “What about Harry, Professor?”

Snape ignored the question and began carefully pushing himself to his feet. He winced in pain as he tried to place weight on his injured leg. Harry, in spite of the anger he felt toward Snape's unjustifiable behavior, offered to help him.

But when Harry reached for him Snape snatched his arm away and aimed another glare of complete hatred toward him. Harry couldn't understand. He'd never experienced such complete dislike from someone, not even from the Dursleys.

“Fine. Don't accept my help,” Harry said, his exasperation making him more bold than he would normally be in front of a teacher, “But you've got to get to the hospital wing.”

“Don't be stupid, Potter. Who do you think supplies Madame Pomfrey with her potions and salves? I will be fine once I've reached my office.”

“At least let me help you...”

“No!” Snape said, his eyes flashing. “Zabini, you will assist me to my office. Bulstrode, see that Potter reaches the common room. I dare say the other teachers will have subdued the troll by now.”

Blaise cast Harry a slightly worried look before joining Snape's side. Snape accepted his shoulder for support and began hobbling away, shouting a last warning to Harry and Millie to get out of the forbidden corridor immediately. Then they disappeared around the corner.

Millie and Harry began the trek down to their common room, neither one of them uttering a single syllable. Harry was still too angry for words. What was Snape's problem? Harry had literally saved his life, and rather than thanking him, he takes away house points and threatens expulsion? Harry could only shake his head in disbelief. He hadn't done anything to make Professor Snape hate him, but his contempt was obvious, especially now.

“He's completely ridiculous!” Harry fumed as soon as they entered the Slytherin common room. It was completely empty. Apparently, the rest of the Slytherins were still waiting for instructions down in the Great Hall.

“At least he got the house mixed up,” Millie remarked, “He said Gryffindor again.”

“That's not the point! He shouldn't have taken points in the first place! I've done nothing except rescue him from a bloodthirsty dog, and he still hates me? Why? What did I ever do to him? It is just because I'm famous? I can't help it that an evil wizard murdered my parents and left me alone! I didn't ask for any of this to happen! I didn't even want to be in his stupid house!”

Millie settled into one of the leather armchairs and quietly let Harry have his rant. Once he'd lost some steam and calmed down, she said, “Well, at least we know we were right about Dumbledore's hiding place.”

“What?” asked Harry, his mind still on Snape and his brush with death.

“The package from Gringotts. The dog must be guarding it. So whatever it is, he has hidden it in the forbidden corridor after all.”

“Oh. Right. But we still don't know what it is.”

Millie shrugged. “No, but we know Snape must want it pretty badly. That's the first place he went when everyone else was distracted.”

She was right, Snape was obviously out to get whatever the dog was guarding, and took advantage of the troll's appearance to test the corridor. And who's to say he didn't let the troll in himself to create an opportunity? It occurred to Harry that at least part of Snape's anger must have come from having his plan discovered by a group of students.

“Well, he isn't going to get it,” Harry declared. He had his mind made up in an instant, fueled by a spiteful desire to thwart Snape.

“Why not?” asked Millie.

“Because we're going to steal it first.”

 


	5. Quidditch

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Harry often wondered what happened to the giant squid during the cold winter months, though Millie assured him that the lake was supposedly very deep, and connected through underwater caves to the open sea. On particularly cold days, Harry liked to stare out the window during History of Magic, imaging the squid taking a winter holiday somewhere warm and sunny.

He would often spy Hagrid through the window walking toward the Quidditch field. His size made him easy to spy no matter how far up one of Hogwarts's many towers Harry climbed. During his regular after-school visits, Hagrid explained that he was busy defrosting broomsticks for the upcoming Quidditch season. Harry had no idea why the broomsticks would need defrosting, or what this process would even entail, but he enjoyed listening while Millie and Blaise discussed popular Quidditch teams.

With Blaise's careful instruction, Harry was beginning to understand what he could expect from the first Quidditch match of the season. He took a particular interest in it, as the first match always featured Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The winning team earned points toward the House Cup and progressed in the tournament for the Quidditch Cup. Flying lessons for the first years had already come to a close, much to Harry's disappointment. Flying had been the subject Harry excelled in the most, and he looked forward to his second year when he could officially try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

As usual, Malfoy was completely insufferable. When he wasn't taunting Gryffindors about the upcoming match, he was loudly proclaiming to his fellow Slytherins that their victory would be assured if only he had been allowed on the team.

“Flint's a good captain and all,” he explained to Harry one afternoon, though Harry had not shown the slightest interest in having a conversation with him, “His beaters are top notch. I've seen them during practice. And Pucey's not a bad chaser, either. But he's mad if he thinks Higgs is a fit seeker. Now, if it were _me_...”

Harry knew that saying anything, even an insult, would only encourage Malfoy, so he wordlessly packed up his potions homework and left the common room without a backward glance. He could hear Malfoy carrying on his conversation with Crabbe and Goyle, telling them that Potter must not have understood all of his complex Quidditch jargon. “Poor bloke, did you know he was raised by _muggles_?”

Harry nearly bumped into Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin seeker on his way out the door.

“Malfoy thinks you're shite at seeking,” Harry said without so much as a hello.

“Does he now?” Higgs remarked darkly. He was short for his sixteen years, not much taller than Harry. But there was something svelte about the way he moved that reminded Harry strongly of a panther, and made him quite intimidating. They passed each other without another word, and Harry continued on his way to the library, vaguely wondering if Malfoy would have anything amusing to say about his confrontation with Higgs later.

Harry wasn't the only one who had escaped the dungeons to work on homework in the relative comfort of the library. Blaise was sitting at a table to himself, frowning at a piece of parchment in front of him.

“Potions?” Harry asked, taking a seat across from him. “Same for me.”

Blaise grunted and began leafing through the pages of _Magical Draughts and Potions_. “You would think that with Slytherin playing in the first Quidditch match, Snape would have let us off the hook.”

Harry shook his head in disagreement, “I heard the team was excused from their homework, but no luck for us first-years.”

Blaise sighed and leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two rear legs, “You know. My mum was supposedly really good at potions. Pity I didn't inherit any of her skill.”

“We could ask someone for help,” Harry said, looking around the library. He spied a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl scouring the bookshelves, the stack in her arms already towering far above her head. Hermione Granger shared the same potions class with Harry and Blaise, and though Snape despised her as he did every other Gryffindor, he was begrudgingly forced to award her full points for her work each lesson.

“We could ask Granger,” he suggested, but Blaise shook his head.

“Rumor has it she's been taking Longbottom's homework to the hospital wing. I doubt she'll help us, too.”

After Halloween, word had spread that while Harry and his friends had been aiding Snape against the three-headed dog, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger had faced off against a mountain troll. Apparently, Longbottom had realized Granger wasn't in the Great Hall during Quirrell's alarming announcement, and he had gone off to warn her of the danger. Unfortunately, the troll had made its way out of the dungeons, and cornered the Gryffindor students in a girls' lavatory. Hermione had been unharmed, while Neville ended up in the hospital wing with a concussion. The teachers all said it was lucky they made it out with their lives.

As for Neville, after his previous visit for a broken wrist after their first flying lesson, and now the run-in with the troll, he was quickly earning a reputation for being the most unlucky student in the school.

Harry sighed, resigned to the fact that he might actually have to complete his homework without help, when he had a sudden thought.

“What about Snape?”

“What about him?”

“Maybe we can ask him for some extra homework help?”

“Harry, are you barking mad?”

“No. I'd just like to see how he's getting along on that leg of his.”

Blaise chuckled, “Now I know you're crazy. Feeling sorry for Snape?”

“That's not it. I was just thinking that he's not likely to have another go at stealing the artifact while his leg's still on the mend.”

Harry and his friends had taken to referring to the mysterious parcel as “the artifact” since they were no closer to guessing what it was. Besides, it felt a little strange to be constantly talking about “Dumbledore's package.”

“Do you still think we should steal it?” Blaise asked.

Harry thought carefully before responding, “I think it must be something important if someone tried to break into Gringotts for it. And Dumbledore must really value it if he's put that dog there to protect it. And if it's that valuable, there's no way I want someone like Snape to have it.”

Harry could see that Blaise agreed with him from the expression on his face. Though Snape had always shown Blaise the same preference he showed the other Slytherin students, Blaise had learned to hate him on Harry's account.

“You make a good point, but how are we supposed to get past the dog?”

“I'm sure we'll think of something,” Harry said, looking around the vast library again, “After all, there are a lot of books in here. I'm sure there's something about how to get past a three-headed dog.”

* * *

 

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. Harry was looking forward to witnessing his first Quidditch match. He kept looking down the table to where the Slytherin team, already dressed in silver and green Quidditch robes, were gathered at the end of the breakfast table. He was amazed to see that not one of them looked nervous as they took their meal, though no one appeared to be talking. Harry was impressed. If he had been expected to fly in front of the whole school in less than an hour's time, dodging bludgers and the like, he expected he would feel rather sick. Her certainly wouldn't be able to eat as many sausages as Marcus Flint, the team captain.

Soon Flint was gesturing wordlessly to the rest of his team, and they proceeded out of the Great Hall. Harry's stomach twisted in sympathetic knots as their procession was met with loud jeers from the other houses. The winner of this match would face the Hufflepuffs in the next game, and they made no secret of which team they preferred to see progress to the next round.

Harry caught the eye of Terrence Higgs as he moved to follow the rest of his team. He had grown to like Higgs ever since Malfoy became oddly silent whenever he was in Higg's presence. Harry offered him a smile that he hoped was encouraging, but Higgs turned away without acknowledgment.

“I wish they'd shut up,” Millie said in response to the continued jeering from the Huffepuff table.

“They might as well get their licks in before we flatten them next match,” Blaise said absently, his eyes roving over a letter he received from his mother by owl post that morning.

“Can we focus on one game at a time, please?” Harry asked, “It's difficult enough keeping up with Gryffindor without having to make enemies of the rest of the school.”

“We aren't making enemies of them, Harry. They've made enemies of us,” Blaise said in a matter-of-fact tone. To demonstrate, he turned to look at a pair of first-year Hufflepuff girls who were discussing the upcoming match. He caught their eye with a smile and a wave and asked pleasantly, “Nice day for a bit of Quidditch, isn't it? Have either of you played before?”

The girls glared at him. One of them even stuck out her tongue. Then they turned away, saying in loud voices how Slytherins were all stuck up, thinking that just because they'd never played they didn't know anything about Quidditch.

Blaise turned away with a shrug and smirked at Harry, “See what I mean?”

“But why does everyone hate Slytherin so much?”

“Probably because we're better at everything,” Blaise said.

Harry snorted, “And modest, too.”

“No, he's right Harry,” Millie interjected, “We've won the house cup the last seven years in a row, and we do pretty well in Quidditch too.”

“That, and most of us come from old wizarding families,” Blaise added.

“What's that got to do with anything?” Harry asked.

“Pureblood has a lot of influence in the wizarding community. Some people are jealous, I think.”

Harry wanted to ask more about this aspect of wizarding life he'd had so little experience with, but the whole school began moving out the doors, as if acting on some invisible signal. The Quidditch match was about to begin.

“We better head down to the pitch,” Blaise said, tucking his letter into his pocket. “Grab us a snack, Harry.”

Harry obligingly grabbed a few pastries from the gold dishes and hurriedly followed in his friend's footsteps. Millie had her arms full with a banner they had painted onto some of Malfoy's sheets (stripped off of his bed when he wasn't around). Blaise was carrying a pair of binoculars he'd bought for the express purpose of better enjoying the Quidditch match. He insisted that they were top-of-the-line enchanted binoculars developed for wizarding entertainment, but Harry giggled at their old-fashioned appearance. To him, they looked like antique opera glasses. However, he refrained from teasing Blaise after he threatened not to share.

They made their way down to the Quidditch pitch where Harry had been used to taking his flying lessons. Today the flags had been raised above the tall towers, decorated in every house color. The stands were already filling to the brim with student spectators, and here and there Harry could even see a few of his teachers, marshaling the crowds and ensuring everyone got safely to their seats. The tall silver hoops that acted as the Quidditch goal posts gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Harry wondered if in addition to defrosting broom-handles, Hagrid had also needed to shine the posts.

Just being a part of the crowd was enthralling. Harry helped his friends unfurl their banner, painted with Blaise's best artistic rendering of a twisted serpent, and hung it in front of their front-row seats. Soon Madam Hooch, refereeing the match today, blew her whistle and the two teams – one green and one scarlet, took to the air. Harry saw the golden snitch only for a moment before it was released and sped off into the blue sky. He did not envy the team's seekers who would need to find the little golden ball and catch it in order to end the game. It seemed like a nearly impossible task.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too...”

“Jordan!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

A Gryffindor boy named Lee Jordan was running commentary for the match, watched closely by Professor McGonagall. Harry joined the others in laughing at Jordan's poorly-timed observation, but he was quickly engrossed by the fast-paced action of the game taking place above him.

“Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes,” Jordan continued, amid loud cheers from the Slytherin onlookers. “He's flying like an eagle up there... He's going to score – no! He's stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood.”

Harry joined the others in booing the Gryffindor team as the scarlet players took possession of the Quaffle and began racing down the pitch. Harry was amazed by how quickly the Quaffle changed hands during the game. The players had to control the flight of their brooms while throwing and catching the Quaffle to their teammates, all the while avoiding other players and roving bludgers. It was all Lee Jordan could do to keep up with the action. Occasionally though, the players did make a mistake. Katie Bell of the Gryffindor team was struck in the back of the head by a bludger and dropped the Quaffle right back into Slytherin hands. But Adrian Pucey, the Slytherin Chaser in possession of the ball, was quickly stopped mid-flight by a bludger himself. Harry watched with bated breath as the Quaffle passed into the hands of the Gryffindor team once again, and their Chaser approached the goal posts. The Slytherin Keeper, Bletchley, dove to block the Chaser's throw, but he missed it by a mile.

“Gryffindor scores!” Jordan yelled triumphantly as Harry and the others moaned in frustration. Harry hated to admit that Malfoy might have been right about anything, but there did appear to be players on the team who needed improvement.

“Budge up there, move along!”

“Hagrid!” Harry cried in surprise, moving aside in a fruitless attempt to make room for his friend. The surrounding Slytherin crowd looked at Hagrid disapprovingly, but a bit of bullying from Blaise and a few dark looks from Millie soon secured Hagrid a seat among his Slytherin favorites.

“No sign of the snitch yet, eh?” asked Hagrid, oblivious to the dirty looks thrown at him from surrounding students.

“Not yet,” said Harry. “Gryffindor just scored ten points though.”

“Yeah, saw that on me way here,” Hagrid nodded. Harry knew that Hagrid had been sorted into Gryffindor house when he'd been a student, but he had the decency to look disappointed in the score for Harry's sake. He offered the large pair of binoculars he wore around his neck to Harry, who accepted them gratefully and turned his attention back to the game.

“Slytherin in possession..” Jordan's narration continued, “Chaser Pucey ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell... He speeds toward the... Wait a second, was that the snitch?”

Harry had spied it through the binoculars a second before Jordan did. The small flash of gold passed just by Pucey's ear as he raced toward the goal posts. The sound of its whizzing wings must have startled him, because he dropped the Quaffle. It was intercepted by a Gryffindor Chaser, but everyone's attention was now directed toward the two racing Seekers. Even the other players had stopped mid-flight to see what would happen.

Higgs lay flat against his broom, a green blur racing toward the snitch. He was neck-and-neck with the Gryffindor seeker. Harry dropped Hagrid's binoculars in his excitement, screaming himself hoarse along with the rest of his house. Even Hagrid raised his voice in a hearty cheer.

“Go on! You've got it!”

It was as if Higgs was suddenly moving in slow motion. Harry could see him pull just slightly in front of the Gryffindor seeker. He was smaller, but his arms seemed to reach just a bit farther. His fingertips brushed the golden surface of the snitch, and then he had it. Slytherin had won the first match.

“Oh no...” Jordan's amplified voice was saying to the audience, “Higgs has got it. Slytherin wins the match...”

If he sounded a little unenthusiastic, it didn't matter to Harry. He was too busy cheering his head off with the rest of his friends. The first-years all jumped up and down in their excitement, shaking the wooden stands below them until Hagrid warned them all to settle down. As the Gryffindor team flew back to the ground, heads bowed low, Flint led the Slytherins on a victory circuit of the field. Higgs flew right over Harry, the hem of his robes just brushing the top of Harry's head. He paused when he spotted Draco Malfoy in the stands, who moments before had been cheering with the rest of them, but stopped abruptly when he saw Higgs staring at him.

Higgs lifted the snitch in his hand, gave it a passive look, and hurled it in Malfoy's face.

“Not bad for a shite seeker, eh?” He said before soaring off again. Malfoy's face turned beet red.

“He's amazing!” Harry gushed as he, Blaise, and Millie made their way with Hagrid toward his hut moments later. Of course, he was talking about Higgs, “I didn't know anyone could fly like that! He was so fast! And did you see that dive?”

“Not to mention his little jab at Draco,” Blaise said with a smirk, “I know you had to love that part, Harry.”

“Well, yeah. Malfoy got what was coming to him.”

“Was' tha' now?” Hagrid asked.

“Malfoy was talking badly about the Slytherin team the other day, especially Higgs. So I say Higgs could have done a lot worse than just throwing the snitch at him.”

Hagrid looked troubled. “So this Malfoy says somethin' bad about 'em, and he looks abou' after his victory so he can go rub it in 'is face?”

“Yeah, that's about right.”

“Seems a trifle petty to me. Why can't he just enjoy his victory? That was some real quality flyin' today. No need ter spoil with with little rivalries.”

Harry didn't think Hagrid understood just how annoying Malfoy could be, but he didn't want to argue with him. Instead, they changed the subject back to Slytherin's victory and the boost it would give their house points as they settled down to tea with Hagrid.

“We're in the lead for house cup now,” Blaise was saying. “Snape ought to be pleased. He'll have something to gloat to McGonagall about.”

“Maybe he'll be in such a good mood he'll just forget about the potions essay,” Millie said hopefully.

Harry laughed, “Oh sure. He'll excuse everyone but me.”

“Come ter think on it,” Hagrid said as he placed a bowl of unappetizing rock cakes in front of the trio of friends, “Where was Professor Snape durin' the match? Thought he'da been front row in the staff box, but I din' see 'em.”

Harry exchanged a look with Millie and Blaise. He could tell they were both thinking the same as him. They'd all been very stupid. If Snape was trying to steal something from the forbidden corridor, wouldn't it make sense to have another go at it when the rest of the school was out on on the grounds? For all they knew, he was cheerfully surveying whatever treasure Dumbledore had hidden at that very moment.

“He's probably trying to get past that three-headed dog again,” Harry said bluntly. Hagrid dropped his teapot to the floor with a loud clatter.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he asked, clearly alarmed.

Harry gaped at him, “ _Fluffy_?”

“Yeah! He's mine. I bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the...”

“Yes?” Harry and Blaise asked eagerly.

“Never you mind!” Hagrid said gruffly. “That's top secret, that is! You all shouldn't even know about Fluffy.”

“But Hagrid,” said Harry very seriously, “Snape's trying to steal whatever that dog... whatever Fluffy is guarding. You have to tell Dumbledore.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, “Snape's a Hogwarts teacher. He'd do nuthin' of the sort.”

“Hagrid! We caught him red-handed! He was trying to break into the forbidden corridor on Halloween, but the... but Fluffy stopped him!”

“But Professor Snape's one of the teacher's protecting the... the...”

“Yes?” Harry said, literally sitting on the edge of his seat.

Hagrid looked very flustered. “Now that's enough from you! You're meddlin' in things that ought not to be meddled in! It's too dangerous fer a bunch of firs' years! No, you forget that dog and what it's guardin'. You leave that between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.”

“Aha!” said Harry, “So there's someone named Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

 


	6. Hall of Portraits

Christmas was coming. One morning in Mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and attracted several students out onto the ice for skating. Fred and George Weasley, Ron's older brothers in Gryffindor house, were punished for bewitching several snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Harry was of the opinion that they should ask the Weasley twins what spell they had used, so that he might use it against Snape or Malfoy. But seeing as the Weasleys were both on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Millie thought it was unlikely they'd have any friendly feelings toward a Slytherin student, and the subject was dropped.

The hallways and classrooms grew more drafty and cold with each passing day, and potions in the dungeons was absolutely dreadful with the cold and damp. Harry had been surprised to find that the Slytherin common room was remained quite warm. The large fireplaces were kept constantly running with great, roaring fires, and the many overstuffed armchairs scattered throughout the room could be delightfully cozy when one dragged down the blankets from their bed. It was in just such a position that Harry made himself comfortable one day before break, curled in a chair near the fire in a cocoon of his blankets, reading a book Blaise had recommended to him called _Quidditch Through the Ages._ He had heard Higgs would be graduating that the end of the year, and he was very keen on trying out for the Seeker position himself.

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy's familiar drawling tones, “for those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.”

Harry could feel Malfoy staring at him and knew this speech was meant for his ears. Malfoy's familiars, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled thickly. Harry, who was busy learning more about the first Quidditch World Cup in 1473, happily ignored him.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas, a thought which caused him near-constant delight. When Snape had gone around collecting the names of students who wished to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, Harry was the first and only Slytherin to sign up. But he didn't feel sorry for himself at all. In fact, he was looking forward to what Christmas at Hogwarts would be like, and with the extra alone time, he would be free to explore the forbidden corridor.

Snape had been in an increasingly fowl mood as the holidays approached, leading Harry to suspect that he had not been successful in stealing the mysterious artifact. That only meant Harry had more time to figure out a way to steal it himself, and he felt certain that the answer would be found in the identity of Nicolas Flamel. Now he just needed to find out who that was.

If _Quidditch Through the Ages_ was any indication, Flamel had not been a famous Quidditch player. But Harry was sure he'd find something in one of the library books during break. Later. For now, he just wanted to learn more about the Wronski Feint.

But it was not to be, as Malfoy's increasingly elevated voice cut across his train of thought again.

“I mean, it really is pathetic if you think about it. It's one thing if you can't stand your family, but to have to stay because you haven't got a proper family to begin with? That's just sad.”

This time his words stung. Harry closed his book with a snap and looked up at Malfoy angrily. Of course, Malfoy was already staring in Harry's direction, waiting to see what effect his words would have on Harry.

“Oh, Potter! Sorry, didn't see you there,” lied Malfoy, “Getting ready for the holidays? I was just telling Crabbe and Goyle that I should start packing for my trip home. Will you be returning to your muggles?”

“You know I'm not, Malfoy,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“No? Well that's too bad. I suppose if you wanted to you could always come visit _my_ family. I'm sure mother wouldn't mind, and there's plenty of extra room...”

Harry felt like gagging at the prospect of spending his precious holiday with Malfoy, but he was spared the indecency of having to respond to Malfoy's request. Blaise and Millie were both making their way through the door, and they were just in time to hear Malfoy's comments to Harry.

“What in Sauron's name are you talking about, Draco?” Blaise said theatrically, “Harry's coming to my house for Christmas!”

Malfoy and Harry both looked at Blaise in shock. “ _What_?” they asked in unison.

Blaise grinned and demonstrated a letter he held between his middle and index finger, “I just got permission from my mum. She says you're welcome to spend Christmas with us this year. That is, if you want to.”  
“Yeah!” said Harry, feeling his heart swell with excitement, “Yeah! I want to! But... I already signed up to stay at Hogwarts...”

“It's alright. Mum said she'll write to Dumbledore. She'll get it sorted out.”

Blaise and Harry grinned at each other. Malfoy looked on jealously. Millie rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of her male friends, and wandered off to the girls' dormitories to prepare for her own trip home.

* * *

 It felt odd to be climbing aboard the Hogwarts Express again so soon after his first arrival. There was the same feeling of excitement among the students, only now everyone was abuzz with discussing Christmas plans. Harry recalled that the last time he had been aboard the train, he'd been on his way to school, sharing a compartment with Ron Weasley. He felt the usual pang of regret that they hadn't become friends after all, though the feeling was less intense than it had been at the beginning of the year, and it lasted a much shorter time.

Harry, Blaise, and Millie managed to nab a compartment to themselves for the return trip. Harry had been concerned that Malfoy would try to weasel his way into their party, but luckily he kept away during the whole trip. The trio were able to pass the time together pleasantly enough, and soon the conversation drifted to their favorite topic – the mysterious artifact and the identify of Nicolas Flamel.

“You don't think Snape will manage to steal it over break while we're gone?” Harry asked.

“I don't think he'll have a chance to,” Millie replied. “With the student's gone, there's less distraction. Dumbledore might catch him if he tries anything.”

Blaise nodded in agreement, “Plus, remember what Hagrid said? He said that Snape was _one_ of the teachers guarding the artifact. That means Dumbledore has more than one obstacle in Snape's way. You saw what happened on Halloween. He wasn't expecting Fluffy. I'll bet he'll want to figure out what the other teachers have done before he tries anything again.”

“What do we know about Flamel?” asked Millie.

“I never found anything in the library,” Harry said sadly.

“I could ask my mum,” said Blaise helpfully, “I'll tell her it's for a school project. I mean, the artifact is hidden in the school, so it's not really a lie, is it?”

“I'll ask my parents, too,” said Millie. “I doubt they'll know anything, but it's worth a shot.”

* * *

The scarlet steam engine rolled up to the platform amid cheers of welcome from waiting family and friends. Blaise craned his neck out the window of their compartment in eager anticipation of catching a glimpse of his mother.

“You'll like her, Harry,” he said as he scanned the crowd, “She's not like other moms. She's cool.”

“I wouldn't know,” said Harry quietly. He hadn't really meant to say anything, and he regretted the comment instantly. Luckily, Blaise didn't appear to have heard him over the sound of the train and conversation. Millie, however, looked at Harry with an expression of surprise and sudden interest. Harry saw her eyes flash toward his lightning scar and he flushed with embarrassment.

Fortunately, she made no comment, and was soon gathering her bags from the overhead compartment. Blaise gave an exclamation of delight to show that he had spied his mother, and was quickly following Millie out the door. Harry carefully composed himself, slowly dragged down his trunk, and hefted Hedwig's cage with one hand. It was time to meet Blaise's family.

Edana Zabini was the most beautiful woman Harry had ever laid eyes on. She was tall and slender, but not bony like his Aunt Petunia. Her skin was darker than Blaise's and seemed to glow with a warmth all its own. She wore her curly dark hair short, emphasizing her long, elegant neck. Her face was completely free of wrinkles, causing her to seem far younger than her years, until her son stepped off the train and she broke into a charming smile, made all the more welcoming by the fine lines which formed around her eyes and the corners of her full lips.

Harry was instantly nervous. He lingered on the steps of the Hogwarts Express as Blaise jogged happily to his mother. He watched mother and son exchange a quick hug and enter into conversation. Blaise began to look over his shoulder, obviously wondering where Harry had wandered off to.

Harry was finally forced forward from an impatient shove at his back as other students tried to disembark the train and join their families. He wasn't really sure what he was expected to say upon meeting Blaise's mother. Blaise had told him very little about her, and he hadn't expected to be so disarmed by her appearance. She was lovely to the point of intimidation.

His nerves quieted as he approached the pair. Blaise's mother extended her warm smile to Harry and offered him her hand.

“You must be Harry,” she said politely, “Blaise has told me so much about you. I'm very glad you could come.”

“Thank you,” Harry managed to say without stammering. He was struck by the sudden notion that he would have loved to have had a mother like this, and he felt homesick for a place he couldn't remember living, with a mother he never knew.

Harry knew he was starting to feel jealous of Blaise, and he didn't like feeling that way about his friend. He tried to shake it off as he grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage and began following Blaise and Mrs. Zabini toward the entrance to the platform.

“Where's the car?” Blaise asked as they exited Kings Cross Station.

“You have a car?” Harry asked in surprise. He didn't imagine pure-blood wizarding families had automobiles.

But Blaise contradicted him with a laugh, “All self-respecting wizards have at least one car, Harry. It's the one thing the Muggles got right!”

“Telephones, Blaise,” Mrs. Zabini corrected automatically.

Blaise considered this for a moment before nodding. “Those are alright, too.”

They stood at the curbside in front of the station, watching traffic drive by. Mrs. Zabini appeared to be searching for something in the road when she suddenly lifted her hand and waved. A shiny black car detached itself from the circling traffic and pulled up to the curb in front of them. The windows were tinted so dark he could barely see the driver.

“Blase, sit up front, will you?” Mrs. Zabini asked as Blaise and Harry loaded their trunks into the boot of the car. “I'd like to get to know Harry more.”

“Your only son has been away at his first term in Hogwarts, and all you care about is his famous friend!” Blaise exclaimed in mock-annoyance. He smiled at Harry and winked before jumping into the front seat, where he immediately began a lively conversation with the still-unseen driver.

Harry climbed into the back with Mrs. Zabini and found that it was quite spacious inside the car, more than he would have expected judging from the outside appearance.

“And how have you been enjoying your first term?” Mrs. Zabini asked as Harry wondered if the car was enchanted.

“Fine,” said Harry, acutely aware that Blaise was listening to their conversation from the front seat. “Er... Flying is really fun.”

“He's really good at it too, mum!” Blaise chimed in, “Pity that he can't try out for the Quidditch team this year, but I'd say he'd do well as Seeker! Say, do you know Nicolas Flamel?”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't expected Blaise to ask so suddenly, and so soon after reuniting with his mother. Fortunately, Mrs. Zabini didn't appear to notice his alarm.

“Flamel? Why do you ask?”

“It's a project for school,” Blaise said brazenly.

Mrs. Zabini eyed her son critically, but she seemed satisfied with his response, “He's the only wizard to have successfully created a philosopher's stone.”

“The what?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

“It's a stone which turns any metal into pure gold,” Mrs. Zabini explained, “It can also be used to create a potion which gives the drinker eternal life.”

Harry and Blaise exchanged wide-eyed stares. Immortality and infinite wealth? It was no wonder Snape was trying to get his hands on the artifact, if in fact it was the stone.

“But how does it work?” Blaise asked excitedly.

Mrs. Zabini raised one perfectly formed eyebrow, “If I knew that, don't you think I'd have made a stone for myself?”

They left London and continued to drive until they reached a small country town called Ascending Downs. Blaise cheerfully pointed out to Harry the many features of the town as they drove. Apparently it had as many wizarding families as it did muggles.

The Zabini residence was a little removed from the town proper. Situated on a sprawling garden covered in freshly fallen snow, the three-story red-brick home took Harry's breath away. He knew that many Slytherin students came from powerful, rich families; but Harry had not expected this degree of wealth. He couldn't be certain from viewing the outside alone, but he felt confident that the amount of wealth possessed by Mrs. Zabini made Harry's trove of galleons in Gringotts appear laughably small.

Blaise bounded out of the car as soon as it stopped, ordering Harry to follow and not bother with their luggage. Harry thought this was unfair to Mrs. Zabini, but she waved him away with a smile. He wondered if they were expected to collect their things after Blaise gave Harry the tour of the house.

“Hello! I'm back from school!” Harry could hear Blaise shouting cheerfully just inside the door.

“Is it, er... Mr. Zabini?” Harry asked, realizing suddenly that he'd never heard Blaise speak of his father.

“What?” Blaise asked, confirming Harry's suspicion that he had just committed a faux pas.

“I mean, is your mother married?”

“Oh, no. She's between husbands at the moment,” Blaise said laughingly, “But her past husbands are here. I was just saying hello.”

Confused, Harry crossed the threshold into the foyer. Dominating one wall were six life-sized portraits. Harry stared at them with interest. Mrs. Zabini's former spouses all looked like very wealthy, if not important men. The paintings, like those of Hogwarts, were all moving, and they looked down at Harry with almost equal interest.

“Who's this, Champ?” asked the portrait of a roguish man with an eye-patch.

“This is my friend, Harry Potter.” Blaise said in response to the portrait's question.

“Harry Potter!” exclaimed the portrait of an younger-looking man with freckles, “My goodness, is it really? Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Er, yeah. Same to you,” Harry replied.

“Pretty lucky for you, eh Kiddo?” asked the portrait of a bald fat man wearing a monocle, “I see you take after your mother. She always had powerful friends.”

Blaise smiled, but he leaned over to Harry and whispered, “He's my least favorite.”

“Which one's your father?” Harry whispered back, searching the other portraits for some resemblance of his friend.

“Oh, he isn't here,” said Blaise. “Follow me.”

Blaise led Harry to a small salon. It was quieter here than in the front hall, where the portraits' conversation continued at a loud hum behind them. Harry walked around the room, admiring Mrs. Zabini's collection of spell-books and curios. Meanwhile, Blaise headed straight toward the mantle above the fireplace. He brought a small framed picture to Harry and displayed it with a proud smile.

“My dad,” he said.

Harry looked at the picture and saw the resemblance immediately. Though Blaise took more after his mother, his father shared the same broad smile. Harry was struck by a feeling that something was odd and then he realized the image wasn't moving. He had grown accustomed to portraits that moved and talked, and was surprised to encounter a still photo again, especially in the home of a pure-blood family. Harry was about to ask Blaise about the photo, when a knock sounded at the door and a very strange creature waddled into the room.

It was very short. Harry thought that it it couldn't be much taller than Professor Flitwick. But unlike the professor, the creature was certainly not human. It had very large, pointed ears that bobbed up and down as it walked. Its eyes were as large as tennis balls and colored the same bright green. It also had a large, pointed nose which turned up slightly at the tip. Topping off its very unusual appearance, Harry realized that at first what he took to be a sort of tunic was actually an elaborately embroidered pillow case, tied at the creatures waist with a bit of gilded twine.

The creature stopped just inside the doorway and bowed so low that its nose drew a line through the ornate carpet.

“Welcome home, Master Blaise,” the creature squeaked, “Torsh has taken the liberty of placing master's belongings and those of his friend in master's room, sir. Would the master and Mr. Potter care for some refreshment?”

“Oh yes!” Blaise said happily, “Something sweet if you have it, Torsh. Do you want anything, Harry?”

“Er...” said Harry, still staring at the strange creature. He had no idea if it was male or female, and knowing what it called itself hadn't helped. “Yeah, some tea I suppose?”

“Very good, sir,” said Torsh with another deep bow, “And how does Mr. Potter like his tea?”

Harry and Blaise finished their order, and Torsh backed out of the room, maintaining its bow until it was out of sight again. Harry turned toward Blaise, his mouth already open to ask about the bizarre creature, and found Blaise grinning at him.

“Torsh is a house elf,” he said, anticipating Harry's question before it could be asked. “I forgot to ask... Was that your first time meeting one?”

“What's a house elf?” Harry asked, though he thought he had some idea.

“They're creatures that serve wizards,” Blaise stated plainly, “But not all wizards have one because they're usually bound to a single family. It's hard to find a house elf who isn't already serving someone. Torsh belonged to my mother's fifth husband. He had no family, so when he died, Torsh stayed on with us instead.”

Harry thought about this carefully. It seemed odd to him that a creature that could speak for itself could be owned by someone. The thought made him feel a bit uncomfortable.

“But Torsh doesn't belong to you, does... um... he?” Harry asked, trying to find some way of justifying this disturbing practice. “He could leave if he wanted to?”

“Torsh? Sure, elves are really powerful magic users. Torsh can do whatever Torsh wants to do, I suppose. But house elves don't like living on their own. They're happiest when they have a family to serve.”

To hear Blaise speak, one would think that keeping a magical creature as a personal servant was a completely normal thing to do. Harry decided that there was still a lot he had to learn about the wizarding world, and decided to let the matter drop for a moment.

Torsh returned balancing a silver tray atop his or her head, piled high with snacks and drinks for Blaise and Harry. Harry was sure to thank Torsh for the service; a statement which was met with a surprised stare from Torsh followed by another deep bow.

Dinner that evening was superb. Blaise informed Harry that Torsh took care of all of the household needs, including cooking and serving dinner. Harry had to admit that Torsh was a marvelous cook. Blaise's mother sat at the head of the long dining table and asked Harry polite questions about his muggle family. Harry was often at a loss for words when trying to answer questions about the Dursleys. He worried that Mrs. Zabini could sense his discomfort, and luckily Blaise was quick to jump in with stories from Hogwarts. Mrs. Zabini had attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and was thus very interested to hear how things were run at the United Kingdom's school.

“I've invited Nick to Christmas Eve with us,” she said suddenly during the dessert course of their meal.

“Who's Nick?” Blaise asked through a mouthful of bread pudding, “Not another suitor?”

“Certainly not. I mean Nicolas Flamel.”

Blaise choked on his food and Harry flinched in alarm.

“Flamel?!” Blaise managed to exclaim once he'd regained control of himself, “What do you mean?”

“You said you had a school report about his work, didn't you?” Mrs. Zabini asked calmly. “He and his wife happen to be very dear friends. I thought it would be nice to invite them to our party Christmas Eve. You'd have a chance to interview him yourselves.”

Blaise and Harry exchanged a look of apprehension. On one hand, they already had the information they needed. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Fluffy was guarding the one and only Philosopher's Stone. However, if they denied needing to speak to Flamel now, Mrs. Zabini might suspect that something was up.

“Of course!” Blaise said, reading the look on Harry's face, “Brilliant, mum.”

Mrs. Zabini took a careful sip of her wine and then said, “The Malfoys will be there too, of course.”

Harry thought he had surely misheard her, until Blaise let out a groan.

“Oh, mum! You can't! Not with Harry here this year!”

“Blaise, it's tradition. You know I'm very fond of Narcissa.”

“Oh, she's alright. But that son of hers!” Blaise said in exasperation.

“Blaise, be careful what you say about Draco. You know Narcissa can be terribly dangerous when it comes to him. It's our desire that you two be friends. And you're both in Slytherin!”

“Yeah, and we share a dorm, too. That doesn't mean he's stopped being a total wanker!”

“Language!” Mrs. Zabini warned.

Blaise rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then looked at Harry apologetically.

“But mum, Draco's done nothing but harass Harry all year.”

“It's not up for debate, Blaise. I already sent the invitation.”

Blaise let out another exaggerated groan. Harry could do nothing but shrug. He wasn't sure which idea made him feel more uncomfortable. Meeting the man he was planning to steal from, or spending Christmas Eve with Draco Malfoy?

 


	7. Nicholas Flamel

Harry was nervous. He'd never been to a party before. The Dursleys sometimes went to soirees hosted by his Uncle Vernon's coworkers, but on these occasions Harry had always been sent to visit Mrs. Figg, who did nothing but talk about her cats the whole time. On the few occasions when Dudley had a group of his friends stay over, Harry had either been locked out of sight in the cupboard under the stairs, or he'd served as part of the entertainment for the other boys – most often as a human punching bag. So when Blaise asked if he'd happened to pack any dress robes, Harry realized how completely out of his depth he was.

“Are there usually a lot of people who come to this party?” Harry asked as Blaise searched through a closet of his old clothes for something that might fit Harry.

Blaise appeared to be doing some mental math, then he said, “Not a lot. I'd say about fifty people show up each year.”

“Fifty?” asked Harry in amazement. He wasn't sure he even knew fifty people by name, much less knew them well enough to invite them to a Christmas party.

“I know, it's not much. But it makes for a pretty decent crowd. Boring though. Mum always makes me spend the evening entertaining Draco... It's bollocks,” he added quickly, apparently anxious to assure Harry that he wasn't and had never been Draco's friend.

“But your mum likes them? I mean Malfoy's family.”

“Mum and Narcissa – that's Draco's mum – they good friends. They met at St. Mungo's when they were both pregnant, and I guess they bonded over that.”

“St. Mungo's is a hospital?” Harry asked.

“Yup, it's a hospital for magic folk. People usually go there for counter-jinxes and remedies for potions gone wrong, that sort of thing. But there is a midwifery ward as well. I guess some witches can have really tricky pregnancies. Others simply don't trust a muggle doctor to know what he's talking about.”

Harry didn't need to meet Narcissa Malfoy to know that she fell in the camp of witches who didn't trust a muggle doctor. If she was at all like her son, she'd stick her nose up at anything remotely connected to muggles and their culture.

“Which kind was your mum?”

Blaise smiled sadly at Harry, “I was tricky.”

Harry could sense that there was some history Blaise didn't want to talk about, so he tried lightening the mood.

“I thought you said you were born on the back of a broomstick?” Harry asked teasingly, remembering their conversation from earlier in the year.

Blaise erupted into laughter, “Of course! That's what made it so tricky!”

Harry kne whe'd guessed correctly from the way Blaise dissolved into mirth. His joke hadn't been that funny. But he remembered the way Millie let his jealous comment pass unnoticed on the train, and he decided to follow her example by not prying into Blaise's past.

“Aha! Here's something!” Blaise exclaimed with enthusiasm, dragging a set of black dress robes out of his closet. “I wore this last year... It might be a bit big for you, though.”

“It looks nice. Are you sure I'll have to wear it?”

“It's a formal party, Harry. Yes, you have to wear it. We'll have to hem it in though...”

They went to appeal to Blaise's mother for assistance, but Mrs. Zabini dismissed them offhand.

“You know I'm no good at domestic spells,” she said, placing heavy emphasis on _domestic_ with an air of disdain, “Have Torsh help you.”

They found Torsh hard at work decorating a large Christmas tree in one of the grand salons that would be used for the party. Harry felt bad asking the house elf stop in the middle of decorating to adjust his dress robes. He suggested that they help by taking over while Torsh hemmed the robes for Harry's height.

Blaise looked alarmed at the prospect, “But... how are we supposed to decorate the tree without magic?”

“Do you have a ladder?”

“What's a lad-air?”

Harry gave Blaise his most disgruntled glare until Blaise started laughing, “Only joking. Of course I know what a ladder is. I think we might even have one somewhere around here...”

Torsh had Harry's robes adjusted in a matter of seconds. In fact, the task was complete before Harry and Blaise had located the elusive ladder. But as it turned out, they had so much fun adding their own decorations to the tree that they wound up helping Torsh anyway.

* * *

 

Quite a few more people arrived for the party that evening than Blaise had predicted. The proposed fifty guests appeared to have tripled, a turnout that irritated Mrs. Zabini.

“I don't think I invited half of these people,” she said testily. “No doubt some have brought friends interested in meeting Harry Potter.”

It was the first mention she'd made of Harry's fame in the magical world, and Harry was a little embarrassed. He felt bad about indirectly causing Mrs. Zabini any trouble. But that was nothing compared to the awkwardness he experienced when introduced to the party-goers. Harry was reminded strongly of his visit to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, where he'd met a group of enthusiastic witches and wizards in the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn't known any of them, but they had certainly heard of him.

Similarly, Harry was ushered around by Mrs. Zabini, shaking hands with countless wizards. Mrs. Zabini explained the position of a few of these esteemed individuals. There were ministry officials, healers from St. Mungo's and several foreign wizards of dubious significance. Harry found it completely impossible to keep up with everyone's names, let alone remember their job titles.

It wasn't until Mrs. Zabini introduced him to Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, that Harry realized exactly how important Mrs. Zabini's connections really were.

“Ah yes, Mr. Potter!” Fudge said with a wide grin. He took Harry's hand and squeezed it affably. Harry thought he'd had too much of the eggnog already. “Can't tell you what an honor it is to meet you. How are you enjoying your first year at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, it's brilliant,” Harry said truthfully. He found that it was easier to talk to these strangers when they asked him about school, “Hardly anything has tried to kill me so far, so that's good.”

Fudge laughed absently, causing Harry to think that he wasn't really listening to him. Instead, the minister was smiling warmly at Mrs. Zabini.

“Lovely party, Edana. Even better than the last!”

“Thank you, Minister. It's very kind of you to make it again this year,” Mrs. Zabini replied, her expression considerably cooler toward the Prime Minister.

“Now, now! You really must call me Cornelius! I won't have these formalities between old friends.”

Mrs. Zabini flashed a dazzling smile, “And are we old friends, Minister?”

Harry felt someone tug at his elbow and turned to see Blaise. Together, they slipped away from the pair of adults, weaving their way through the crowd and slipping into the hallway unnoticed.

“Nothing worse than watching your mum flirt!” Blaise declared once they were free. “I swear, if Fudge becomes my next stepdad, I'm moving to France.”

Harry laughed, then asked, “Any sign of him yet?”

“Flamel? Not yet. I wonder if mum really invited him, or if she was just messing with me?”

“I meant Malfoy.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he's here. You mean you haven't bumped into him yet? Lucky. I only escaped a few minutes ago when I came to fetch you.”

“And just where do you think you're sneaking off to?”

Harry and Blaise both froze at the commanding tones of Mrs. Zabini. They turned to look sheepishly at her over their shoulders, caught in the act.

“We were just going to the kitchen to see if Torsh needed any help with the hors d'oeuvres,” suggested Blaise.

“Nice try,” said Mrs. Zabini, “But I'm not fooled. Now both of you, back to the party! There's someone who'd like to meet you.”

“Someone who wants to meet me!” Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself, “What a refreshing change of pace!”

He thought Mrs. Zabini would reprimand him for the outburst, but instead she and Blaise burst into laughter. He smiled along with them and allowed Mrs. Zabini to direct him back to the salon.

Harry wondered what foreign dignitary or ministry official he was going to meet next. Privately, he hoped that it would be a professional Quidditch player. He knew for a fact that Mrs. Zabini's fourth husband had played for an international team, and he wondered if a few of his old colleagues were among the crowd. Instead, Mrs. Zabini led him to a pair of armchairs nestled near the tall Christmas tree where a couple sat chatting merrily and sipping cider. The man looked to be about forty years old. His graying hair was very long and tied in the back with a red ribbon. He wore red dress robes to match, and had tied a few bells into his beard to add to the holiday effect. The woman at his side was dressed in dark green robes and wore a wreath of mistletoe and poinsettia leaves like a crown atop her head. She appeared to be about the man's age, though her dark brown hair and rosy cheeks gave her a more youthful appearance. They both stood upon observing Mrs. Zabini and the boys, and the man extended his hand cordially.

“Mr. Potter, I presume?” he asked kindly, “Nicolas Flamel, at your service.”

Harry was completely taken by surprise. He only barely managed to stammer out a coherent greeting and return Flamel's handshake. When he'd learned that Flamel was the creator of stone that granted immortality, he'd expected some who looked a bit... well, older. But the man now shaking his hand appeared less than half as old as Dumbledore.

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Perenelle,” Flamel continued, speaking in a French accent. Perenelle smiled sweetly and inclined her head toward Harry while offering her hand. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to kiss it or shake it, so he settled for gripping it awkwardly and offering her a sort of half-bow.

“It's such a pleasure to meet you, 'Arry,” she said in the same musical accent as her husband.

“I'm here too,” Blaise said suddenly, sliding next to Harry's side and gently bumping Harry out of the way. His actions earned him a laugh from Mr. and Mrs. Flamel, who then politely showed him the same courtesy they'd shown Harry.

“Well, now that you're all acquainted, I'll leave you to it,” said Mrs. Zabini, “If I'm not mistaken, that's Rita Skeeter loitering near the buffet table, and I've been meaning to have a chat with her about an article she wrote regarding my latest husband.”

“Yes, yes. Go play hostess,” Flamel said jovially, completely missing the predatory look in Mrs. Zabini's expression as she moved to intercept the party crasher. He turned his attention back to Harry with an interested smile and said quietly, “Now then, Edana tells me you boys are interested in my work?”

Blaise launched into an explanation before Harry had a chance, “Yes, sir. We have a project on alchemy for school, and we were told you're the foremost master of all magic in that subject.”

It was a speech they had prepared to use in the event that they actually got to meet Flamel face-to-face. Their hope was that Flamel would dissolve into a diatribe about the grueling process of his work, and perhaps let slip some information on the stone, all the while lending credence to their lie about a school project. But Flamel smiled at them with a very Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, boys. But in this case, the only thing people are curious about when it comes to my work is the Philosopher's Stone.”

They hadn't planned on Flamel addressing the subject so quickly. In the moment it took for Harry and Blaise to exchange nervous glances, Flamel was able to divine that he had hit the nail on the head.

“You boys are enrolled at Hogwarts, correct?”

Harry and Blaise both nodded. Flamel gave a thoughtful hum.

“And how is old Albus Dumbledore these days?”

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He often spied Dumbledore during evening meals or occasionally strolling about the halls of the school, but he'd never had any direct contact with him, a fact for which he counted himself lucky. It seemed to him if he had done anything serious enough to merit the headmaster's attention, then he must be in very real trouble.

“Old,” Blaise said after a pause, eliciting another chortle from Flamel.

“Oh, don't say that!” Perenelle cried with mock dismay, “If Albus is old than I am positively ancient!”

“Not ancient, m'dear. Just antique,” Flamel said with a wink. Harry thought this was a very rude thing to say to his wife, until Flamel stated, “Perenelle recently celebrated her six hundred and forty eighth birthday. Hardly what one would consider ancient.”

“Shame on you, Nicolas! Revealing a lady's age like that!” Perenelle chided.

Blaise gasped, causing them all to jump.

“I don't believe it!” he cried. “Madame, you don't look a day over twenty!”

This was an exaggeration, of course. Perenelle certainly did not look her age, but she didn't look nearly so young. Harry was surprised to see the obvious flattery so well received. Perenelle giggled, saying, “You're a great flirt, just like your father.”

Blaise's attention was completely stolen away. He was obviously interested to speak with anyone who'd been acquainted with his dad. Harry and Flamel did their best to make conversation amongst themselves while Blaise became engrossed with Perenelle.

“You mentioned the stone...” Harry said cautiously after making a bit of small talk about Hogwarts under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore. “The truth is... We were hoping to talk with you about it...”

“I thought so,” said Flamel, “When Edana informed me that you boys wanted to interview me for school, I was curious. Alchemy isn't a popular subject these days. This isn't really about an assignment, is it?”

Harry had assumed that stealing the stone was the only way to keep it from Snape. But perhaps if he could win Flamel over to his side, they had a chance of protecting the stone, and getting Snape fired in the process.

“We know it's hidden in the school,” Harry whispered to Flamel, throwing caution to the wind, “We think someone is trying to steal it.”

He was taking a risk, not knowing how Flamel would respond. Perhaps he would inform Dumbledore of their meddling. But Harry knew this would be the last time he could speak with the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, and he had to at least try to warn him of the danger.

Flamel's response surprised him.

“I'm certain that someone is,” he said. “That's why Dumbledore suggested he move it from Gringotts to Hogwarts.”

“But it isn't safe there!” Harry protested, “It's just a school! If someone could break into Gringotts...”

“I have faith in Albus,” Flamel interrupted smoothly, silencing Harry's objections, “He assures me the stone is well protected.”

“What makes you so confident in him?” Harry asked. He, like most of the students in his house, had never been sold on the “Dumbledore's a genius” rhetoric bouncing around Hogwarts's halls.

Flamel mulled over the question silently for a few moments. He stared at Harry thoughtfully, looking directly into his eyes before eventually glancing up at Harry's scar.

“I've known Albus for a very long time,” he said suddenly, as if breaking out of a reverie. “Met him when he was just a bright young boy enjoying his last year at Hogwarts. Very promising mind. I had no idea that he would go on to defeat one of the greatest dark wizards in modern history.”

“Voldemort?” Harry asked.

Rather than flinch at the sound of the name, Flamel laughed, “Goodness no, Harry. Did you forget that you yourself saw an end to that dark wizard? No, the man I am speaking of was called Grindelwald. You see, Harry, Voldemort was only the most recent dark wizard to appear. But he was not the worst of them, and I am certain he will not be the last. I've lived a very long time, and I can attest to that.”

“Sorry, sir. But what does all of this have to do with the Philosopher's Stone?”

Flamel smiled, “Merely that I feel sorry for anyone wandering into Hogwarts thinking they can steal from under the nose of Albus Dumbledore.”

* * *

 

Harry recounted his conversation with Flamel to Blaise as the party continued on. They were standing near a recessed window, partially hidden by a pair heavy drapes, watching the crowd while remaining unnoticed themselves. Harry was grateful for the reprieve. It was a little tiring having to mingle with so many adults.

“So he's confident Dumbledore can keep the artifact safe?” Blaise asked, reverting to their old code-word.

“He seems to think that with Dumbledore in charge, a school for children is safer than a goblin bank.”

“Well, he didn't count on us,” Blaise said with such bravado Harry nearly shouted with laughter.

“Keep your voice down! We'll be discovered!” Blaise commanded in a hoarse whisper, but it was already too late.

“There you are!” Mrs. Zabini said, swooping down on the mischievous pair, “I can't leave you alone for a minute without you running off! Blaise, you've been ignoring Draco all night!”

“Mum!” Blaise groaned, “I already spent, like, an hour with him!”

“But Harry hasn't seen him at all,” Mrs. Zabini said. Harry knew by her tone that Draco was probably complaining about this fact to his parents.

There was no arguing with Mrs. Zabini. She dragged the boys away from their window post and ushered them across the hall into a separate parlor that had been opened just to accommodate the number of unexpected guests. Harry spotted the Malfoy family before they noticed him. They were standing aloof from the other guests, looking haughty and proud.

Mrs. Zabini rushed to her friend with genuine delight. Harry had understood from Blaise that his mother and Malfoys were old friends, but he hadn't really understood how close they were. He watched the women embrace laughingly and marveled at their dissimilarity. Where Blaise's mother was dark, Mrs. Malfoy was fair. While Mrs. Zabini wore her hair short and curly, Mrs. Malfoy wore hers long and straight down her back. She and her husband had the same white-blond hair as their son. Harry thought they shared the same pointed features as well, though Mrs. Malfoy didn't appear too bad when she smiled.

Harry noted that the meeting between Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Zabini was much more reserved. Mr. Malfoy offered Blaise's mother a deep bow and what was meant to be a charming smile. Mrs. Zabini merely inclined her head, her lips pursing imperceptibly. It was clear she had no fondness for him, though Mr. Malfoy appeared completely unconscious of that fact.

Finally the moment Harry had been dreading. Mr. Malfoy stepped aside to reveal his son, Draco. They locked eyes instantly. Draco gave Harry a sneering smile and a very pretentious bow. His action drew the attention of both his parents to Harry, who seemed quite shocked to see Harry Potter standing right in front of them, although surely they must have heard that Harry would be there. Draco was sure to have talked of nothing else since getting home for the holiday.

“Father, this is Harry...”

“Harry Potter...” said Lucius Malfoy, completely cutting off his son's introduction. Harry didn't like the look of appraisal Mr. Malfoy was giving him, as if evaluating a lamb for future slaughter, “Congratulations on your sorting into Slytherin House. I would have thought with your parents... background... you would be more suited to Gryffindor.”

“Funny, I just about to say that Draco seemed more Hufflepuff material,” Harry replied coldly.

“Don't be silly, Harry!” said Blaise, “Hufflepuffs are hardworkers. Draco's never attempted anything without first evoking his family name!”

“Now, now boys!” Mrs. Zabini cautioned, no doubt noticing the murderous look on Narcissa Malfoy's face as her son was insulted, “Try to keep your joking to a minimum! Draco's parents might take you seriously!”

Every fiber of Harry's being burned with a desire to tease Draco more, but he didn't want to anger Mrs. Zabini or embarrass her in front of her friend – no matter how poorly-chosen a friend she may be. Blaise and Harry offered Draco cheerful smiles, as if they were good friends merely having a laugh. Draco frowned, but surprisingly played along with the farce. Harry thought he was probably going to enjoy playing friends with them. It was only what he had been trying to do all term.

Harry and Blaise then commenced a game of how to ditch Malfoy without causing Mrs. Zabini's anger or drawing the wrathful attention of Draco's parents. Blaise came up with the clever idea of challenging Draco to a game of hide and seek. Draco would be instructed to hide first, while Harry and Blaise crept off to Blaise's room for a game of exploding snap instead. It was a complete success, and Draco wasn't found by anyone except Torsh, who discovered the young wizard huddled in the pantry near the party's end.

* * *

 

Against no competition whatsoever, Christmas morning was the best Harry had ever experienced. He awoke to Blaise jumping enthusiastically onto his bed, shouting loudly about presents. Harry was instantly alert, in spite of their late evening partying with Mrs. Zabini's friends and followers. They spent a few moments aggressively pummeling each other with the pillows on Harry's bed, then they raced down the stairs. Neither one of them bothered to change out of his pajamas.

“Presents! Presents!” Blaise cheered as they made their way down the hall toward one of the sitting rooms.

“Please, Master Blaise!” pleaded Torsh, “Mistress Edana hasn't risen yet! Please help yourselves to breakfast instead! _Quietly_!”

“Breakfast! Breakfast!” Blaise cheered in a whisper, pivoting on the spot and directing Harry toward the kitchen.

Torsh had prepared a very hearty breakfast of pancakes, waffles, kippers, sausages, bacon, eggs, scones, and countless fruits. Blaise and Harry sat in the breakfast nook, gazing out the windows on the snowy garden beyond. Mrs. Zabini made a quiet entrance as Harry helped himself to a third serving of bacon. She was dressed in a night gown and a long bathrobe, looking tired but still stunning. She accepted a cup of coffee offered by Torsh and gave Harry and Blaise a very fatigued smile.

“Happy Christmas,” she said sleepily.

“Happy Christmas!” Harry and Blaise chorused back. Mrs. Zabini flinched, one of her hands flying to her temple. She strode quickly to a cabinet containing several small glass vials, selected one containing a light pink liquid, and sipped a tiny bit. She gave a slight shudder, then brightened visibly.

“That's the ticket!” she said brightly, dumping the rest of the vial into her coffee. Any signs of fatigue were instantly erased from her face. Harry wondered exactly what potion she'd used in her drink. “So, shall we go see what Saint Christolas has brought you?”

“Who?” asked Blaise in confusion.

“It's a muggle thing,” Mrs. Zabini said, looking toward Harry for confirmation.

“Actually, I think you mean Saint Nicholas,” said Harry as Mrs. Zabini led the boys out of the kitchen and back down the hall.

“Who?” Blaise repeated.

“You know, Santa? The fat old man with a white beard in a red suit. He flies around with a team of reindeer and comes down people's chimneys to bring them Christmas gifts.”

Blaise stared at Harry as if he had just sprouted a pair of reindeer antlers himself.

“Muggles...” he said with a tone of amazement.

Harry thought about explaining that no one actually believed in St. Nick, but Mrs. Zabini had already ushered them into a small sitting room. It was far more cozy than the salon used for the party the night before, and much more suited to their little party of three. Mrs. Zabini sank into an overstuffed armchair and continued to sip her coffee as Blaise dove into the pile of gifts clustered at the base of a modest pine tree.

“Harry, aren't you going to open yours?” Mrs. Zabini asked.

Harry was shocked. He didn't expect anyone to have gotten him anything.

“I have presents?”

“Of course you have! Here's one from me!” Blaise said, lobbing a small package at Harry's head.

Elated, Harry tore open the red paper and found a small box inside containing a very familiar golden ball.

“It's a practice snitch,” Blaise explained, “Figured you might want to give it a go if you're going to try out for the Quidditch team next year.”

“It's brilliant!” Harry said, “Thanks!”

“This one's for you, too...” Blaise said, sounding a little confused. He was holding a poorly-wrapped gift in thick brown paper.

“Hagrid,” said Harry immediately, knowing by sight that the gift had to have come from his giant friend. Inside was a wooden flute that Hagrid had obviously whittled himself. It looked a little rough, but when Harry blew into it it made a very pleasant sound a little like an owl.

His third gift was a very small parcel, easy to miss. Blaise nearly stepped on it before quickly scooping it up and passing it to Harry. Inside was note from the Dursleys.

 _We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._ Attached was a fifty-pence piece.

 _“_ That's friendly,” said Harry without sarcasm. He was used to things like a single toothpick or a used napkin. By comparison, this was very thoughtful of them.

Mrs. Zabini did not appear impressed. She was frowning slightly as Blaise looked at the coin with interest.  
“Is that muggle money, Harry? It's funny looking, isn't it? Can you really buy things with this?”

“You can have it if you like,” Harry said, offering it to Blaise.

“No thanks,” Blaise said, shying away from the coin as if it might contaminate him, “I wouldn't want you to lose a precious gift from your Aunt and Uncle.”

Harry and Blaise shared a smile. Harry had told Blaise enough for him to know that there was no love lost between Harry and his relatives.

Millicent had sent them both gifts as well. Blaise looked a little guilty as he opened his box of licorice wands.

“I didn't get her anything...” he muttered. Harry felt a bit guilty as well. He hadn't had an opportunity to do any shopping for Christmas gifts.

“We'll get her something before we head back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, mentally determined to get something for Hagrid as well.

Mrs. Zabini agreed to take the boys on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley on their way back to school, which satisfied their consciences for the time being. Blaise turned to open a gift prepared for him by a distant relative while Harry proceeded to unwrap a lightweight parcel addressed to him, but with no sender. Something fluid and silvery gray slithered to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.

Blaise glanced at it, “What's that?”

Mrs. Zabini leaned forward in her chair with interest, “If that's what I think it is, it's very valuable. And very rare. And probably had best not be left lying on the floor. Harry?”  
Harry bent to pick up the shimmering material. It felt very strange in his hands, like water woven into material. It was even cool to the touch.

“Try it on, Harry dear,” Mrs. Zabini said, a look of detached interest still on her face.

Harry did as he was bidden. He threw the cloak – for it was indeed a cloak – over his shoulders. No sooner had he done this than Blaise let out a yell of surprise.

“Harry! You're invisible!”

Harry stared down at his own body in shock. He could feel his arms and legs, but they were nowhere to be seen. They and the cloak had vanished, leaving only his head, floating in space.

“I knew it,” Mrs. Zabini said sagely. “Is there a note Harry?”

Harry looked about and saw that a small message had indeed slipped out of the gossamer fabric when he'd opened his gift. He stooped to pick it up, his hand becoming visible as the material slid over his arm. Written in narrow, looping writing that Harry had never seen before were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

Harry read the note silently to himself, then again out loud to Blaise and his mother. They exchanged looks of bewilderment. Neither one of them could come up with an answer as to who could have sent the gift. The question was brushed away in the next moment as Mrs. Zabini bid the boys to finish opening their gifts.

Mrs. Zabini's gift came last. She wanted Blaise and Harry to open their presents together. Harry was immediately excited. He knew enough to recognize a broomstick when he saw one. But his excitement was nothing compared to Blaise when he tore open the paper and saw the racing broom in all its glory.

“A Nimbus 2000!” He exclaimed, launching himself from the floor and into his mom's embrace, “Thanks, Mum! You are the best mum!”

Mrs. Zabini laughed at her son while Harry stared at his own broom, and identical model to Blaise's.

“It's beautiful...” he murmured, admiring the shine on the handle and the perfect shape of the brush. He knew very little about racing brooms, but he knew this one must be good. “But... first years aren't allowed to have their own brooms, are they?”

“You can keep it here and use it during holidays,” Mrs. Zabini said practically. “Besides, you'll need something to help you practice those Seeker skills. Why don't you boys take them out for a spin?”

Harry and Blaise didn't need telling twice. They sprinted out of the room, brooms in hand, and were in the air so fast that they were barely out the door. They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon racing through the sky, testing Harry's new snitch and generally just enjoying the sensation of flying, though they were careful not to clear the tops of the trees, lest they be spotted by the muggles living in the town nearby.

All in all, it was a very Merry Christmas, indeed.

 


	8. The Flying Key

Millie did not seem overly pleased to greet Harry and Blaise at the beginning of second term, but she brightened considerably when they each presented her with a large box of chocolate frogs, plus a stylish new scarf that Mrs. Zabini suggested they purchase. Harry was glad she didn't stay angry with them, because he was excited to tell her everything they'd learned over break.

“Did you have any luck asking your folks about Flamel?” Blaise asked cheerfully after telling Millie all about their new brooms.

Millie scowled, saying, “My parents are useless. They think he might have studied alchemy, but they could have been confusing him with Agrippa.”

“Our luck was a bit better than yours,” Harry said with false modesty.

“Did you find out who he is?”

“Actually, we met him.”

“You _what_?”

Millie's parents had been right about one thing. Flamel was an alchemist. Harry and Blaise informed Millie of everything they'd discovered about the Philosopher's Stone. Millie was unusually silent, even by her standards, as Harry and Blaise explained the properties of the stone, including turning metal to gold, and allowing someone to live forever.

“Flamel said he and his wife are like 500 years old or something. Older than even Dumbledore!” Blaise concluded happily. “Can you imagine? Being able to stay young forever? It's no wonder Snape's trying to steal the thing.”

“Are you stupid?” Millie asked incredulously, “Who cares about that when you can be rich beyond your wildest dreams? Snape probably wants the stone so he can quit teaching forever.”

Blaise shrugged, “Well, whoever has the stone can be both immortal and fabulously wealthy. He doesn't need to pick.”

“Do you think Snape has had a chance to steal it over break?” Harry asked anxiously. He kept coming back to this worry, despite Blaise's constant assurances that whatever was guarding the stone besides Fluffy would keep it well protected in their absence.

“Why don't you just take the cloak up to the third floor and check to see if the dog's still there?” he suggested.

“What cloak?” asked Millie. In their excitement to share what they'd learned about the stone, they'd completely forgotten about the mysterious invisibility cloak. Quickly, they explained how Harry had received the gift from an anonymous source.

“Well, that will come in handy, won't it?” said Millie, “You'll be better at avoiding Malfoy now.”

Harry thought of another way to allay his fears about the stone. As soon as they had a chance, they walked down to Hagrid's hut near the edge of the forbidden forest.

They knocked on Hagrid's door and heard the booming barks of his boarhound, Fang, immediately greet them from the other side. Hagrid, however, did not come to the door right away. They tried knocking again and again, but still there was no answer.

“Maybe he's out?” said Millie just as the door finally opened a very small crack.

“Oh, it's you lot,” said Hagrid, and he opened the door wider. Although his large body effectively filled the entire door frame, they could still feel a wave of stifling heat waft out of his cabin.

“Er... Feeling a bit chilled, Hagrid?” Harry asked, noticing the trickling sweat forming rivulets down Hagrid's face. Some of it was dripping from his beard.

Hagrid looked a bit distracted. “Wha? Oh, yeah. It's all this snow innit? Just trying to keep things comfortable 'round 'ere. Yeh wouldn' believe the drafts yeh get in this ol' place.”

“Um, sure Hagrid. So can we come in?” asked Harry, though he wasn't sure he cared for the idea of sitting in Hagrid's cabin-turned-sauna.

“Er... No, no... No need fer that. Anything I can do fer you kids?”

“Actually, we came to bring you something...” said Harry. They unveiled the gifts they'd been hiding under their cloaks and thrust them at Hagrid.

“Happy Christmas! Sorry they're a bit late...”

Harry had no need to apologize. Hagrid was touched by their gesture. He didn't open his gifts right away, but he accepted each with thanks, turning away to dab at his eyes. Harry wasn't sure if he was wiping away sweat or tears, but he was willing to bet it was the latter. Harry was struck by how much it meant to Hagrid that they thought of him at all, and he felt a little guilty for buying him nothing more than a few pumpkin pasties. Privately, he vowed to get Hagrid something much better next year.

“Also, Hagrid,” said Blaise, “We were wondering if you could tell us whether Snape's already stolen the Philosopher's Stone or not?”

Hagrid's sentimental expression vanished instantly. “Who told yeh about that?!”

“Nicolas Flamel told us about the stone over Christmas break,” Harry explained.

“Flamel?”

“Yeah, the guy who made it. So if he thinks it's fine for us to know about the stone then I don't see why...”

“Nice try, Harry. But I don' believe yeh. I told you kids not ter go meddlin' in business what ain't got nuthin' ter do with yeh!”

“But Hagrid!” Harry protested, “If we don't do something, Snape's gonna get the stone first!”

“Ain't no way Snape's tryin' ter steal the stone! I dun told yeh tha' already!” Hagrid bellowed, “He's protectin' it!”

“Well _someone_ is trying to steal it!” Harry argued, “That's why Dumbledore had you move it to Hogwarts in the first place!”

Invoking Dumbledore's name had a strange effect on Hagrid, who swelled up to his full height and declared “Enough,” in an uncharacteristically authoritative voice. “Now I'm not sayin' nothin' more about it ter any of yeh. If tha's all yeh came to say, then yeh best be gettin' on now.”

Blaise and Millie both looked to Harry, who gave a silent nod, signaling that they should go. Hagrid was clearly angry with them, and it wouldn't do any good for them to stay. As they made their way back to the castle, Harry was glad that his friends didn't start abusing Hagrid for his obstinance. After all, Hagrid's unwillingness to betray Dumbledore would at least keep the stone safe from Snape. There was no way Hagrid would ever tell him how to get past the dog. The trouble was, he didn't seem keen on helping Harry get past it either.

“So what do we do know?” Millie asked sullenly as they stepped into Hogwarts again.

“Nothing's changed,” Harry said, every bit as stubborn as Hagrid, “We'll just have to find a way past Fluffy ourselves.”

* * *

 

As second term started, their mutual resolve to stop at nothing to acquire the stone for themselves added an extra level of excitement to their classes. Harry was convinced that a few of the other teachers must be helping Hagrid and Dumbledore guard the stone, but the question became which teachers he had entrusted with the secret. Harry was certain that Professor McGonagall, as deputy headmistress, was part of the scheme. Blaise jumped on the idea, convinced that the other heads of houses were complacent in the plot to protect the stone as well.

“Hagrid's already said that Snape's guarding it,” Blaise said, “And I don't see why Dumbledore would trust him over any of the other house leaders. McGonagall's one, too. So that means Flitwick and Sprout, as well.”

They began paying particular attention to the subject of their lessons, wondering if there would be some clue as to the method each professor had used to conceal the stone, although it was unlikely they would teach very strong magics to a bunch of first-year students. But that didn't stop Harry from watching Snape like a hawk. Potions would have been nearly unbearable if Harry hadn't started thinking of them as a sort of espionage mission. Snape was behaving positively dreadful to him as usual, though Harry thought there might be a bit more menace to his behavior. Perhaps he guessed that Harry had discovered the secret of the stone? It wouldn't have surprised Harry. Sometimes he had the very unpleasant impression that Snape could read minds.

As the days dragged on, their grades improved, but they were no closer to discovering how to get past the dog. Fortunately, Snape hadn't had much luck either. He appeared to be growing more sour with each passing day, which was actually good news for Harry and the gang. He knew that if Snape's attitude were to suddenly improve, it would spell disaster for their plan to nab the stone out from under him.

The opportunity finally came for them to do some real sleuthing. The second Quidditch match of the year was set to take place between Slytherin and Hufflepuff that weekend. Harry, Blaise, and Millie decided that the match would be a perfect opportunity for them to sneak into their professor's offices to look for clues. So, as the rest of the school headed down to the Quidditch pitch one morning, Harry and his friends loitered in the common room, waiting for the students to clear out before slipping under Harry's invisibility cloak.

It was uncomfortable. Harry was small for his age, and so he took up less space, but Blaise was taller than the average 11 year old boy, and Millie was wider than both boys put together. Somehow, they managed to all squeeze under the lightweight material, though they had to be very careful that their shoes did not appear while walking.

Harry had decided that the best place to start would be Professor Flitwick's office. He imagined the friendly little charms professor wasn't too concerned about security measures around his office. They directed their way tither, just as the first cheers were heard from the Quidditch pitch outside, signaling the beginning of the match.

They reached Flitwick's office without incident, other than a brief encounter with Peeves, the school's poltergeist. They found him floating near the ceiling outside of Flitwick's office, busily tampering with the helmets of the suits of armor so that they would fall onto the heads of unsuspecting students. Harry was concerned. They couldn't get into Flitwick's office without opening the door, and Peeves was sure to notice. He didn't know of any effective spells that worked on poltergeists, though. Just as he was about to signal the others to retreat and form a new plan, Peeves was suddenly confronted by the sharp bark of Filch, the caretaker.

“Peeves! What do you think you're doing?” he roared, running down the hall as fast as his rather lopsided gait could carry him. Peeves merely cackled in response, tossing the full suit of armor to the ground with a loud clatter and zooming away, tipping over any object he passed just to irritate Filch further.

The curmudgeonly caretaker continued to puff and wheeze his way within a hair's breadth of Harry and his friends. Harry held his breath as he passed and could feel his friends on either side sucking in their stomachs as if to make themselves less conspicuous. It was really lucky they had the cloak. They might have been able to come up with an excuse for being inside if confronted by a teacher, but without the cloak, they might have been the target of Peeve's mischief, rather than Filch and a few suits of armor.

Blaise pointed his wand at the door and whispered, “ _Alohamora.”_

The door swung open, but there was no sound of a latch being undone. Flitwick hadn't even bothered to lock his door. Harry was amazed that Flamel had entrusted the safety of his stone to the lax security of Hogwarts.

“Safest place in the country...” he muttered sarcastically.

They had decided before their venture that Millie would stay in the hall on lookout under the cloak. She was the best at jinxes and would therefore be more valuable if confronted by anyone else. Harry and Blaise slipped out of the folds of the cloak, and stepped inside Flitwick's office, carefully shutting the door behind them.

The room was well lit by three large windows framing a sort of reading nook in one corner. All around were stacks of books from the professor's personal library. Some of them had been stacked to form makeshift stairs, enabling the diminutive professor to reach even more books atop the high shelves. Harry hoped the answer to Flitwick's method of protecting the stone did not lie in one of the thick, leather-bound tomes. They'd never have time to read them all.

“Harry, look at this,” Blaise said, giggling slightly.

Harry turned to see Blaise staring into what appeared to be a large glass terrarium. But instead of housing moss or quaint little houseplants, inside was a single, fluttering bird. Harry wondered what was so funny about it until he drew nearer, and realized what he thought was a very shiny bird was actually a large key with a pair of wings, fluttering randomly around the inside of the glass container.

“Do you suppose it's his pet?” Blaise asked, still giggling at the odd sight.

“No...” said Harry, who had just noticed a scrap of parchment sitting next to the glass case, “Look, he's been making notes on it.”

He handed the paper over to Blaise who glanced over it quickly, “It looks like he's been monitoring how long the effects of the charm last.”

Harry watched the little fluttering key, curious suddenly to know what would happen if he tried lifting the lid.

“Why a key?” he wondered aloud. “Does it say when he started studying it?”

Blaise checked over the figures listed out on the paper, “Looks like it starts just before first term.”

The significance of the date struck them immediately, and Harry understood at once why it had to be a key. Obviously, it unlocked a door beyond the one Fluffy was guarding.

“If this one's here, there must be another that he's hidden to guard the stone,” said Blaise, mirroring Harry's own thoughts.

“And you have to catch it to unlock the door. That's why it can fly. I don't suppose he's conveniently written the counter-charm anywhere?”

Blaise looked over the parchment again and shook his head sadly, “No such luck. I suppose we could talk a look around the library?”

“Later,” said Harry, his curiosity getting the best of him. The little key was fluttering around lazily in its glass prison. As he watched it would occasionally tap the side of the glass with a little _ting_ which would then send it floating off in another direction. Harry wanted a chance to see what would happen if he touched it, so without further ado, he gripped the top of the terrarium cover and lifted the lid.

The key instantly jerked past Harry, coming so close to his face he could actually feel the flutter of the wings.

“Watch it!” Blaise shouted, ducking as the key zipped past him as well. They watched, horror struck, as the key, now fluttering as fast as a hummingbird, continued to tear around the room, upsetting papers, knocking over an inkwell, and even sending a few piles of books tumbling to the floor.

“We have to stop it!” Harry said desperately.

“There's no counter-charm, remember?” Blaise said irritably, covering his face for protection as the rampaging key continued to send debris flying.

“Too loud!” Harry heard Millie's muffled voice mutter from outside the door. Perhaps they hadn't drawn any outside attention yet, but it was only a matter of time if he let this mess continue.

The key was fast, but Harry could still follow its erratic movements with his eyes. The sunlight streaming in through the window kept catching it's little golden body, and Harry was reminded powerfully of a snitch. Thinking fast, he ran atop one of the staircases of books stacked by Professor Flitwick. The little key wasted no time in zipping past him again, just outside of arm's reach. But Harry was prepared, he leaped at just the right time, his hand enclosing around the struggling key. For an instant, he smiled in triumph, and then he toppled off the top of the books and came crashing to the floor. Several of the larger volumes dropped themselves onto his head.

After muttering a few choice curse words, Harry thrust the key at Blaise, who then returned the key to the safety of its glass enclosure.

“Nice,” said Blaise as he helped Harry to his feet. They both stared at the key, one of its wings now slightly bent from being gripped in Harry's hand. “I knew you had the makings of a great seeker in you.”

“If he's got more of those hidden in the forbidden corridor, then I'm going to need a lot more practice with that snitch you gave me,” Harry said, rubbing his shoulder where he hit it in his fall.

“Wish mum had let us bring our broomsticks to school with us,” Blaise said sadly, “I mean, I know first years aren't supposed to have broomsticks at school, but I'm pretty sure Dumbledore wouldn't be happy about your invisibility cloak either, and mum let you have that.”

“It was my dad's,” Harry said flatly. In his mind, that was reason enough to let him take it with him to Hogwarts. He refused to be parted from it.

Except at the moment, when it rested over Millie as she waited in the hall. Harry thought he heard an impatient sigh from beyond the door, and he glanced around Flitwick's office guiltily. It hadn't exactly been tidy before, but now it looked as if a cyclone had passed through.

“Do you think he'll notice?” asked Blaise innocently.

“Yes. I think he will.”

“Ah well. _Reparo_!”

Blaise pointed his wand at a vase that had been shattered during the key's flight. The broken pieces quickly sealed themselves back together.

“There, that's the least I can do.”

Harry didn't want to risk checking any of the other teachers' offices that day. He was slightly worried that their presence would be missed at the Quidditch match, and Flitwick would be wondering who had sneaked into his office when he returned. They agreed to move through the school under cover of the cloak, at least until they reached the front doors. If anyone asked why they were coming in late, they would say that they had been at the match since the beginning, but needed to use the loo.

“Always use the bathroom as an excuse,” Blaise said offhand, “People never want to hear the details after that.”

“Shush!” Millie warned, “Snape!”

They moved out of the way just in time as Snape came oozing into the front hall, his black robes billowing around him like great bat wings. He paused, as if he had heard a piece of their conversation and was now searching for the source of the noise. Harry desperately hoped all of their feet were hidden, but he was too afraid to tilt his head down to check. Any movement might have alerted Snape to their presence only a few feet away.

Snape appeared satisfied that he was alone, and he began to stroll away again. Harry thought he seemed to be in a hurry, and he wasn't surprised when Snape made his way up the stairs in the general direction of the third floor.

Harry watched him go with a sense of dread. Had he already discovered how to get past all the teachers' traps? Was he now using the Quidditch game to do some investigations of his own, as Harry and his friends had? Millie and Blaise were impatient to be off to catch the end of the game, but Harry waved them away.

“I want to see what he's up to,” Harry said as he pulled his cloak off of his friends and threw the hood over his face. “Go down to the game. If anyone asks about me, and it will be Malfoy if someone does, just make up an excuse.”

“Bathroom,” Blaise said with a nod. “Horrible diarrhea.”

“Er... great thanks,” said Harry sarcastically. Then he turned on the spot and raced as quietly as he could up the staircase after Snape.

Acting on suspicion, Harry directed his steps toward the third floor corridor. He was about halfway there when he heard whispered voices just ahead of him. Apparently, Snape wasn't the only one walking around the castle during the Quidditch match. Harry slowed his steps and crept closer toward the voices. Although he was effectively hidden under the invisibility cloak, still felt strange about hiding out in the open. Instead, he poked his head around the corner cautiously, preferring to watch from a distance.

Harry was surprised to see Snape talking with nervous Professor Quirrell. At that moment, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was doing a dismal job defending himself from Snape's harassment. As near as Harry could tell, Snape had backed him into the wall between two heavy statues, and appeared to be threatening him mercilessly.

“Have you found a way to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?” Snape was saying to the perspiring professor.

“B-b-but Severus, I...”

“You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrel,” Snape said in his most icy tone, taking a step toward him. Quirrel tried to take another step away, but of course he was already pinned helplessly against the wall. Harry felt terrible for him, but he wanted to see how this confrontation played out.

“I-I don't know what you...”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Quirrell's eyes swelled as large as ping-pong balls and he swallowed so hard Harry could hear him from his hiding place. He seemed on the verge of stammering something to Snape, but at that moment, a ghostly silver figure glided straight through the wall and passed directly through both professors.

Not even Snape could suppress a shudder as Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, turned to survey the teachers. Quirrell was positively shaking.

“Oh, a thousand pardons, professors! I had no idea anyone was still in the castle,” the ghost apologized, “But what are you doing here? Professor Snape, I would have thought you'd be present for the game, seeing as your own house is playing.”

“Just settling an urgent matter, Sir Nicolas,” Snape replied coolly, “Professor Quirrell and I were about to head down to the pitch. Weren't we, Quirinus?”

“A-Actually, I-I...”

Quirrell faltered under the sharp glare of Professor Snape and settled for nodding his head in mute agreement. Having no reason to suspect Snape of any treachery, Nick bid them both a good day and glided smoothly through the opposite wall of that which he entered.

Snape turned toward Quirrell, murmuring one final threat, “We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.”

Quirrell, clearly terrified, shifted uncomfortably around Snape and fled right past Harry, down the stairs. Snape watched him go, his eyes narrowed in something akin to disgust, before slowly making his way down the steps in Quirrell's wake. Harry pressed himself against the wall as Snape passed, careful to hold his breath. He knew getting caught by Snape now would spell certain doom. Luckily, Snape was none the wiser about Harry's presence, and Harry was able to trace his steps down the front hall again a few minutes. Apparently, neither Snape nor Quirrell had actually made their way down to the Quidditch pitch, as Blaise and Millie were still sitting on front steps, heads resting on their hands.

“What are you guys doing?” Harry asked, causing both of his friends to jump nearly out of their skins.

“Pyres of Gondor, Harry!” Blaise exclaimed, “Don't sneak up on us like that!”

Millie said nothing, but she glared at the empty space where Harry stood, her wand in her hand. She slid it back into her robes as Harry pulled the cloak off himself and stuffed it away.

“Sorry, but I thought you guys were headed down to the Quidditch pitch?”

“We wanted to know what you found out about Snape!” Blaise protested, “I can't focus on Quidditch while you're running about spying on people!”

“Alright! Just be quiet. We can't talk here,” Harry said, glancing over his shoulder. He was worried that Snape and Quirrell would decide to make good on their lie to Nearly Headless Nick, and that one of them would head that way at any moment. They raced back through the castle, not bothering with the cloak now, and didn't speak until they were safely inside the Slytherin common room. It was completely deserted, as all of their fellow classmates were still at the match.

Harry told them everything he'd overheard from Snape and Quirrell's conversation, as well as everything he suspected.

“It's likely Quirrell was one of the teachers entrusted to protect the stone,” Harry said, “But Snape is trying to get him to help him steal it.”

“But why Quirrell? What if he told Dumbledore what Snape was up to?” Millie asked.

“He's the easiest to intimidate, probably,” Blaise said, “And I'll bet he has some pretty useful information on how to break past the other teachers' enchantments. After all, he may be a stuttering coward, but he's also the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“He said he wants Quirrell to figure out how to get past Fluffy,” Harry reminded them, “That means Hagrid hasn't revealed any secrets yet... Except for the ones he's revealed to us by accident.”

“So the stone is safe so long as Hagrid keeps his mouth shut?” Millie asked.

Harry, Blaise, and Millie all stared at one another with worry. None of them needed to say that relying on Hagrid's silence was not the safest means of security.

 


	9. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

In the weeks that followed, Quirrell proved himself braver than Harry and company had given him credit for. Snape continued to stalk the halls looking sour, his mood getting worse and worse as the days progressed. Harry was starting to sympathize with him. Their teachers had begun assigning them massive amounts of homework, and it was doing nothing to improve Harry's mood. Paired with the fact that they were still researching ways of getting past whatever enchantments the other professors might have used, they seemed to be living most of their lives within the library.

One particularly fine day found Harry and the others in this exact location. Harry and Millie were busy reading over Herbology texts to see if they could find any particularly poisonous or deadly plant Professor Sprout might have used to deter any thieves. Meanwhile, Blaise was bent over three separate pieces of parchment, busily writing charms essays for all of them so his friends could focus on their research. Harry had promised to complete the transfiguration project in exchange. Naturally, Millie had already finished their brief Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment for Professor Quirrell.

Harry was so intent on reading about the venomous tentacula plant that he nearly missed Hagrid, which would have been truly astounding, given Hagrid's enormous size.

“Hagrid!” Harry said in a stage whisper, lest his shout draw the wrath of Madame Pince, the librarian, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothin',” Hagrid said, hastily hiding something behind his back and attracting the interest of Blaise and Millie at once, “Jus' having a look around. What's got you three inside on a nice day like this? Not sill reading up on Nicolas Flamel, I hope?”

“Oh, we're way past that, now,” Harry said with complete honesty. He didn't think it prudent to tell Hagrid that they had moved forward with plans to steal the stone for themselves. Given Hagrid's response to the last mention they'd made about the stone, he didn't think it wise.

“Good! Tha's good...” Hagrid said, his sentence trailing off at the end. Harry glanced at his friends.

“Something on your mind, Hagrid?” Harry asked, wondering if Snape or Quirrell had been questioning Hagrid about Fluffy.

“Er, well... Now that you mention it...” Hagrid trailed off again and began glancing around the library guiltily. “Listen, I can't really talk about it here. Do yeh want ter come and see me later today? I got summat tha' I think you'll want ter see.”

Hagrid was still looking secretive and fearful, but there was an element of excitement to his voice as well. Harry didn't know what it could be, but he hoped that Hagrid was finally prepared to tell them something about the stone. He agreed to meet with Hagrid in his hut in an hour's time, which he and his friends spent discussing what possible revelations Hagrid had in store for them. Homework was entirely forgotten.

Almost exactly an hour later, Harry knocked at the door of Hagrid's cabin. He could tell that the span of a few weeks hadn't diminished Hagrid's need to keep out the draft. He could feel the heat radiating through the door when his knuckles struck the dry wood. It was a miracle Hagrid's flammable home hadn't spontaneously combusted. At least poor Fang had been moved outside. Millie gave the boarhound an affectionate pat on the head when he came slouching up to them.

Hagrid opened the door and beckoned them in, saying, “Quickly, quickly now! Don't want to let the chill in!”

“Hagrid, it's stifling in here!” Blaise complained as soon as he crossed the threshold. Despite Hagrid's demand that they be speedy, Millie hovered in the doorway, looking very much as if she preferred to say outside with Fang. Finally, her curiosity won out and she sidled in, allowing Hagrid to shut the door firmly behind her.

“Well... Yeah, I know...” Hagrid agreed as sweat poured down his ruddy face, “But it has to be...”

“But why?” Harry asked.

“It has ter do wi' what I was tellin' yeh abou' in the library...” Hagrid started to say, but then Blaise interrupted him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Hagrid! Is that what I think it is?”

Harry's gaze was naturally drawn toward the hearth, where a blazing inferno that was the clear cause of the sweltering heat burned aggressively. But Blaise was not focused on the flames. Instead, he pointed an accusing finger at a very large lump of coal in the midst of the embers.

Harry didn't understand what he was looking at until Blaise answered his own question.

“A dragon egg! But Hagrid, where did you get one?”

“I won it,” Hagrid said, his embarrassment vanishing. He actually seemed quite proud, “Went down ter the village a few weeks ago and had some drinks with a fellow down at the pub. We had a game o' cards and I had a lucky hand, is all. He seemed quite glad to be rid of it, as a matter of fact...”

Harry had a second look at what he's taken to be a large lump of coal. It was obvious now that it was indeed a dragon egg. If the size and shape didn't give it away, the strange rough pattern of its surface would. Harry looked away from the fire, his eyes slightly watering.

“What are you going to do with it when it hatches?” Millie asked curiously.

“I'm gonna raise it,” said Hagrid with a great swelling of pride, “Terribly misunderstood creatures, dragons. This is my chance to show that if given proper nurturin', they can be real docile.”

Harry remembered that Hagrid said he'd always wanted a dragon, but it had seemed like such an impossible idea at the time, he hadn't considered the consequences of actually owning one. Looking around at Hagrid's wooden cabin, Harry had his concerns.

* * *

 

Hagrid invited Harry and his friends to the hatching, an event they were both curious to see and nervous to attend. Fortunately, the dragon wasn't quite ready to enter the world, so they had some time to think the matter over. Unfortunately, from the size of the egg and some rather ominous shifting, they only had a few more days.

Talking about the dragon provided a break from their usual topic of conversation. For the next week, Harry and the others forgot about the stone entirely, and were consumed with researching dragons to help Hagrid. What they found was not encouraging. Despite Hagrid's assurances that dragons were “terribly misunderstood,” it seemed that even the most docile dragons were still capable of reducing entire villages to rubble. Hagrid's little hut didn't stand a chance.

Then, during breakfast one day, Hedwig brought Harry a note from Hagrid. He had written only two words. _It's hatching._

“We have to go,” Harry said instantly. Blaise and Millie looked less eager.

“Harry, it's a dragon,” Millie said.

“And the most danger an infant dragon poses in its first few days is that it doesn't know its own strength,” Harry said, practically reciting one of the passages he'd read while researching dragons. “But it'll be worse for us if we wait until it's grown as large as Fang!”

“But we have class...” Blaise said lamely, looking for any excuse not to get caught up in Hagrid's dragon-raising scheme.

“Blaise, how many times are you going to have an opportunity to see a dragon hatching?”

“Watch it!” Millie warned. Malfoy was seated only a few feet away. He'd stopped with a fork-full of eggs halfway to his open mouth, obviously listening to their conversation. Harry gave them a meaningful stare and abruptly stood up from his seat. He marched purposefully away from the Great Hall, not bothering to see if Blaise and Millie were following. He was going to see a dragon hatch if it killed him. Which, sadly, was a plausible outcome.

He needn't have worried about Blaise and Millie. They soon caught up with him and faithfully walked by his side all the way down to Hagrid's hut.

“I'm glad yeh came,” Hagrid said as soon as he opened the door, “Shouldn't be long now.”

They rushed inside, not one of them complaining about the heat this time. The fire was still burning in the grate, but Hagrid had removed the egg from the red-hot coals. It sat on large wooden table that dominated most of Hagrid's living space, cushioned by a few tea towels to keep it from rolling. It was fortunate that Hagrid had taken this precaution, because even now the egg was twitching perilously. Freed from the flames, the surface appeared to be a deep blue-black. As Harry stared, a large crack fractured the shell.

They gathered their seats around the table and watched with baited breath. A spiderweb of cracks blossomed from the first fissure. Harry watched the shell rise and fall as the dragon inside caught its breath, then with a shower of shell fragments the egg exploded outward, and the baby dragon flopped onto the table.

It wasn't exactly pretty. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its sinewy, jet body. It had a long snout with large nostrils. Above a pair of bulging orange eyes were the nubs of small horns. It sneezed, and couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Hagrid gushed. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, revealing a set of needle sharp fangs.

“Bless him look, he knows his mummy!” said Hagrid.

“What kind of dragon is it?” Harry asked. Over the past few days they'd learned a lot about the United Kingdom's native dragon breeds, but this didn't look like any of the dragons he'd read about.

“Well, he's a Norwegian Ridgeback, I reckon'.” Hagrid said, sounding as if he was informing them of his new labradoodle. “Judging from the colorin' on the egg. And well, he does look a bit like the pictures...”

“Right, and how fast do they grow?” Blaise asked somewhat skeptically. Harry noticed he was leaning very far back in his seat.

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

“What's the matter?” asked Harry.

“Someone was looking through a gap in the curtains! It's a kid... He's runnin' back to the school!”

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking his stupid, greasy blond hair.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

“Millie, can you hit him with a bat bogey hex at this distance?” Harry asked very seriously.

Millie squinted out the window, “Nah. He's too far. And it's harder to hit a moving target.”

Harry turned to look at Hagrid, who's attention had already reverted back to the baby dragon.

“Don't worry, Hagrid. I'll take care of it.”

But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was too busy singing lullabies to the slightly smoldering lump of scales.

* * *

 

“Is he there?”

“Yes.”

“Are his goons with him?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

Harry kicked at the ground in frustration. He had been trying to corner Malfoy all week without success. Malfoy had been unusually distant since he'd spotted Hagrid's dragon. He'd still somehow managed to whisper teasing comments about “knowing the giant's secret” whenever he passed near enough to be heard by Harry, but he was never seen without Crabbe and Goyle by his side. Meanwhile, Hagrid's little dragon was growing larger with each passing day. Harry knew that in no time at all the whole school would know about the dragon, whether Malfoy told them or not. Still, he knew that Malfoy would go running straight to Snape or some other teacher at the first sign of provocation. He needed to be shut down.

“We have to get him away from those two,” Harry said, joining Blaise's side to peer carefully into the dorm they shared with Malfoy and his cronies. From where he stood he could see Malfoy clearly. He was seated on his bed proudly showing off the recent hoard of treats sent to him by his mother while Crabbe and Goyle looked on hungrily.

Unfortunately, being able to see Malfoy meant he could be seen, as well. Malfoy had pointedly ignored Blaise, but as soon as Harry slipped into view, he perked right up.

“Oh, Potter? Curious to see what I got from home? I don't mind sharing. I know some people don't have parents who can send them things.”

Mrs. Zabini sent Blaise a gift at least once a week, and she had added Harry to her mailing list soon after Christmas vacation, but Harry didn't bother informing Malfoy of this. He simply turned on his heel and marched back down the stairs to the common room. Malfoy's voice floated down to him, clear as a bell.

“Poor chap. He must be so worried about that scaly secret that his giant oaf of a friend is hiding...”

“Damn him!” Harry shouted as he flopped onto a sofa in the common room.

“Who is it this time? Snape or Malfoy?” asked Millie.

“Guess,” said Harry through gritted teeth. He glared at a mermaid who was peering in through one of the common room windows. It glared back at him with equal malice.

“You know, Harry. She hasn't done anything to you,” Blaise said as he joined them, noting the direction of Harry's glare, “Can we maybe save some of that attitude for Malfoy?”

“We can't confront him with Crabbe and Goyle around.”

“I'm not afraid of them,” Millie said immediately, as if offended by the very idea.

“None of us are,” Blaise agreed, “But we can't mention the dragon in front of them, or risk Malfoy telling them himself.”

“How do we know he hasn't told them already?” asked Millie.

“He hasn't. He likes to lord it over them that he knows more than they do,” said Harry. “He's only hinted at it, but Crabbe and Goyle are too thick to pick up on what he's saying.”

Harry asked his friends if they had any ideas on how to ensure Malfoy's silence. They had plenty, but Harry was certain that most of them would get them expelled. They weren't having any luck with Hagrid either. They spent most of their time outside of class sequestered in Hagrid's hut, trying to convince him to let the dragon go before he got himself caught.

“But I can't!” Hagrid would say, “He's too little to go off on his own! He'd die out there!”

“Hagrid, you'll get sacked if Dumbledore finds out!”

“Or worse!” Blaise warned, “You know dragon trading is illegal, right?”

But Hagrid would only shake off their advice and tell them about how Norbert, as he had named the dragon, had grown another three inches that afternoon alone.

“Harry, you know I love Hagrid, but he is completely mental,” Blaise said when another week had elapsed and there had been no change to their predicament. “I say we just leave him be, and let what happens, happen.”

“Either Hagrid gets sacked or his house gets burnt down with him in it,” Harry said angrily. “Those are two outcomes I'm not willing to accept.”

“He could also be eaten,” Millie added helpfully.

“Oh yes, thank you Millie. He could also be _eaten._ ”

“OK, OK. So we can't just leave him alone,” Blaise said, rubbing his temples with both index fingers. The stress of the past two weeks was taking its toll on all of them. “How about this? I write mum...”

“No! We can't tell your mother! She'll... She'll report Hagrid to the authorities!”

“Not if I tell her the dragon is extremely valuable! She knows a lot of people. I'm sure she could find one who's interested in a Norwegian Ridgeback.”

“There's no way Hagrid will sell Norbert to some black market dealer.”

“I've got it,” said Millie. Blaise and Harry looked at her in surprise. She wasn't normally the one to come up with clever ideas.

“We tell Dumbledore.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Millie,” Harry said slowly, “Dumbledore is Hagrid's boss. He's the one that will fire Hagrid if he finds out about the dragon.”

Now it was Millie's turn to roll her eyes.

“Harry,” said said with the same deliberate slowness, “Dumbledore is the one who allowed Hagrid to bring a three-headed hell-hound into a school full of children. I'm sure one adolescent dragon isn't going to put Hagrid's job at risk.”

It took some time, but Blaise and Millie eventually talked Harry around to telling Dumbledore about what happened. They decided the news would be best coming from them instead of Malfoy, because they would describe Hagrid as a sort of hero who rescued a poor, defenseless dragon egg from the wiles of an illegal magical creatures dealer. How was he supposed to know it was very near to hatching?

The trouble was that Dumbledore was not the easiest man to catch alone. It was true that Harry often saw him at mealtimes, and occasionally walking around the halls in conference with a teacher, but other times he seemed to vanish from the school entirely. Harry didn't even know where his office was located.

They had to act fast. Norbert had grown so large he was taking up Hagrid's whole bed, which was built quite large to support Hagrid's considerable weight. And Malfoy had started to look bored with his game of teasing Harry. He might choose to reveal the secret, just to see what would happen next.

And so a mere three weeks after Norbert's birth, Blaise, Millie, and Harry lingered in the Great Hall as the evening meal died down. Harry had his invisibility cloak tucked away in his robes. Its lightweight, almost fluid-like design made it very easy to conceal.

Dumbledore finally got up from his seat, making gestures to indicate that he was bidding his fellow educators a good night. Harry jumped up, knowing that Dumbledore would use the staff exit to make his retreat. It was the same corridor Harry had followed Snape through on Halloween, and he knew which turns to take now.

Malfoy caught his eye as he jumped up from the table to make his escape. He must have known Harry was up to something, because he quickly rose as if to follow him. But just as planed, Millie aimed a leg-locker curse at him from under the table. Malfoy's legs snapped together as if joined by superglue, and he nearly fell on his face trying to stand.

Outside the Great Hall, Harry threw the invisibility cloak over himself, mostly to ensure he wouldn't be interrupted along the way. Then he ran to cut off Dumbledore as he made his way down the passage.

For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd made a mistake. There was no sign of Dumbledore in the corridor. Perhaps there was a secret passage he used to make his way to his office? But Harry didn't have long to suffer, as Dumbledore slowly made his way around the corner, engaged in conversation with none other than Professor Snape.

Harry's heart sank for a moment, but then he was sure Snape would have to leave eventually. He followed the pair as they continued down the hall, up several flights of stairs, and down a corridor Harry wasn't familiar with. Harry didn't want to be caught by Snape, but he was equally curious to hear what they were talking about. Unfortunately, he could only catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

“...keeping an eye on him, I trust?” Dumbledore said at one point. Snape murmured something about “suspicious” and “security measures.”

Harry's heart leaped and he dared to venture a little closer. For a moment, he forgot that the purpose of his mission was to help Hagrid. He realized that Dumbledore and Snape must be talking about the security around the Philosopher's Stone! Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't suspect Snape of being the thief after the stone. Perhaps Snape was hoping Dumbledore would let slip a detail about the enchantments used by the other teachers. Harry thought the information could be useful to his efforts as well.

“... in potions?” Dumbledore said, finishing a question that Harry had missed. Did Dumbledore mean to say that one of the enchantments would involve a potion?

“His work is abysmal,” Snape said after a pause. “And he shows the same conceit as his father. They're very much alike. Two perfect little Gryffindors.”

“Ah, Severus. You forget that he is in Slytherin. Your own house. Perhaps he has more in common with you than you think.”

Harry was thunderstruck. They were talking about... him? But why would Dumbledore be asking Snape about Harry? As far as Harry knew, he'd never even met Dumbledore, much less spoken two words to him. It was odd, but Harry finally wrote it up to his fame. Even Dumbledore must be curious to know how the Boy Who Lived was doing in his classes.

Snape said nothing in response to Dumbledore's last comment, and they parted ways at a statue of a large golden eagle. Snape strolled away, black robes flapping, but Dumbledore remained still for a moment, apparently enjoying a particularly faded tapestry on the wall.

“Did you have something you needed to speak with me about, Harry?” he suddenly asked.

Harry paused in shock, but then he slowly pulled the invisibility cloak off his head. Dumbledore turned toward him, a twinkle in his light blue eyes.

“Ah, there you are,” he said pleasantly.

“But... How did you know...?”

“Harry, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I know everything,” Dumbledore said impressively.

Harry wanted to ask him if he knew that Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, or that Harry was going to steal it first, but he thought better of it. Instead, he said, “So you already know that Hagrid's raising a dragon in his hut?”

To his satisfaction, Dumbledore actually looked impressed.

“I'll admit, I was not aware of this. Thought to be honest, I'm not entirely surprised,” he said.

Harry couldn't help but smile, and Dumbledore smiled at him in return.

“I don't want to get Hagrid in trouble or anything,” Harry said, forgetting completely about the cover story he, Blaise, and Millie and developed to make Hagrid into a dragon-saving avenger, “But it's growing too big for him to manage.”

Dumbledore appeared thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “There's a dragon sanctuary in Romania. I know the director, and could possibly arrange for the dragon to be taken there. I'm sure it would be welcome.”

“Norbert.”

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles, the question in his upturned eyebrows.

“The dragon's name is Norbert,” Harry clarified. Dumbledore smiled again.

“Then I will speak with Hagrid about Norbert. I am sure he will agree that it would be best for him to be reared among his own kind.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, feeling immense relief. While it was true that Norbert was a fireball away from Hagrid at that very moment, he felt better now that he'd told the headmaster. Weeks of stress evaporated as he and Dumbledore continued to observe each other.

“One more thing,” Harry remembered to say, “When you talk to Hagrid, can you maybe not tell him that I was the one who told you?”

“Of course!” Dumbledore said, “I assure you I can be very discreet.”

Harry wondered if Dumbledore had told Flamel the same thing when he agreed to hide the Philosopher's Stone in his school. He didn't ask. Instead, he thanked Dumbledore again for his assistance. Dumbledore wished him a good evening, and Harry had enough sense to realize he was being dismissed. Still, it felt odd to simply part ways like that. Harry wasn't sure what to do, so he gave an awkward sort of bow and began walking back from whence he came.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yes?” Harry said, turning back slowly. Did Dumbledore somehow realize that Harry knew more than he should?

“Your cloak.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry threw the cloak back over his head, rendering himself invisible once again. He probably didn't need to take the precaution, but since Dumbledore had mentioned it, he put it on.

It was lucky he did. Peeves was busy wreaking havoc in the corridor where the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms was located. Thanks to the cloak, Harry was able to slip into the common room unnoticed by the pesky poltergeist.

* * *

 

Dumbledore remained true to his word. Arrangements were made for Norbert to be transported to Romania, and within the week he had been moved to his new home by a team of trained dragon handlers. Hagrid took the separation hard, but he had no idea that Harry had anything to do with Dumbledore's involvement.

“He's such a smart man. I knew I wouldna be able ter keep Norbert a secret from him forever. I just hoped we'd have a little more time together, yeh know?” Hagrid said sadly the afternoon Norbert was taken away. Harry and his friends had joined Hagrid in his hut in order to comfort him.

“But he'll be happy in Romania. He'll have other dragons. He'll make friends... Good man, Dumbledore.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, patting Hagrid's back sympathetically.

“It's for the best,” Millie said blandly. Harry thought she looked a trifle uncomfortable with Hagrid's outlandish display of emotion.

“Let's drink to Norbert!” declared Blaise, hoisting up his cup of tea. Hagrid lifted his wooden tankard, shouting “Here! Here!” and took a long drink. Harry suspected his mug was full of something stronger than tea.

 


	10. The Devil's Snare

The end of term was approaching faster than any of the first years could have anticipated, and exams were right around the corner. With Norbert safely packed away to Romania, Harry was free to think only of his studies. That is, if he had been a normal student. For Harry, end of term meant not only exams, but the final deadline to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone.

Blaise and Millie were ready to give up on the plan altogether.

“Face it Harry,” Blaise said as he suffered through another grueling essay assigned to them by Professor McGonagall, “There's just no way a bunch of first years could master the magic necessary to break through the teachers' enchantments, even if we did know what they all were.”

“That's not true,” Harry argued, “We figured out what Flitwick was hiding easily enough. And I've been practicing with the snitch, so I think I have a good chance of catching the key.”

Blaise grabbed his parchment, now speckled with many ink blots and crossed-out words. He shook it under Harry's face,.

“Well, there's no way McGonagall is going to leave a big fat clue lying around! Not to mention Snape and the rest of them!”

“But we already know about Fluffy! And we've learned loads about dangerous magical plants, so I'm sure that whatever Sprout's used...”

“Drop it, Harry,” Blaise said flatly.

Millie paused in the process of classifying different magical herbs by leaf shape in order to weigh in on their conversation, “On the positive side, I think I'm actually going to pass the herbology exam. So all of our work wasn't a total loss.”

Harry sighed in frustration and stood up from their table. He couldn't bear his friends' sudden apathy for their long talked-of scheme. Stuffing his unfinished essay into his bag, he stalked away without looking back.

Harry couldn't understand how Blaise and Millie lost interest in a plan they'd been forming all year just because a few exams were approaching. He guessed that Blaise must be under a lot of pressure from his mother to perform well, and lately it seemed that Snape's dislike for Harry was spilling over onto those whom Harry spent the most time with. Blaise was as good at potions as the rest of the Slytherin students, but Snape always had some sneering comment to make about his draughts. Perhaps Blaise was starting to resent his friendship with Harry?

Harry snorted at the thought. He knew he was being ridiculous.

As Harry contemplated a way to reinvigorate the interest his friends once held in the stone, he was stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from a nearby classroom. Slowing his steps, Harry moved closer, wondering who it was.

“No... No... Not again, p-please...”

The voice was unmistakably Professor Quirrell. Harry could tell by the stutter. It sounded as though someone was threatening him, and Harry would bet 100 galleons that it was Snape. He drew closer, but Quirrell suddenly burst through the doorway. He was pale and his hands shook as he quickly adjusted his turban. Harry thought he looked to be on the verge of tears.

The professor was so distracted he didn't notice Harry standing only a few feet away, and in the next moment he fled down the hall. Harry peered into the abandoned classroom and saw nothing but a door at the other end of the room, slightly ajar. Harry was certain Snape must have used it to make his own escape.

The scenario didn't bode well. Quirrell looked as if he had reached the end of his rope. If he hadn't told Snape about whatever enchantment he conjured for Dumbledore before, he certainly had now. And what was worse, if Quirrell knew anything about the other enchantments, Snape would soon have all the information he needed to steal the stone.

Harry couldn't stand the thought of it, and he continued to brood over the matter for the rest of the morning, even when his friends finally left the library to join him. They found him by the side of the lake, lazily watching his little golden snitch buzz around his head before occasionally snatching it out of the air with lightning quick speed.

Blaise gave a low whistle as Harry performed a particularly impressive catch, seemingly without being aware of it.

“At least you're a shoo-in for the Quidditch team next year.”

Harry gave a small grunt, but made no comment. He continued to stare over the lake, lost in thought.

“You aren't still thinking of the stone, are you?” Millie asked, hitting the truth exactly.

“No...” Harry lied unconvincingly.

Blaise and Millie exchanged a look. Blaise looked like he was prepared to give Harry a lecture on letting things go, but they were interrupted by the sudden presence of Hagrid, who was armed with a large crossbow.

“'Lo there, you lot,” Hagrid said gruffly. He appeared to have recovered somewhat from Norbert's loss, “Good ter see you outside on a nice day like this. But I'da though yeh'd be studyin', what with exams an all.”

Blaise groaned, “Do _not_ remind me of exams! If I have to memorize another star chart, I'm gonna scream!”

“What are you up to, Hagrid?” Harry said, deeming it suitable to change the subject. He gave the crossbow a meaningful look.

A cloud crossed over Hagrid's usually rosy face.

“Oh, well... Nothin' fer you ter concern yerselves over. I've jus got some... Well, I've got ter go inter the forest tonight and see about a unicorn.”

“A unicorn?” Millie asked with interest.

“The forest?” asked Blaise, sitting up straighter, “Not the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid?”

“Right, tha's the one,” Hagrid said. “Been spottin' unicorn blood in the trees. One of 'ems been hurt real bad, and I aim to find it and nurse it back to health, if I can.”

“But how'd it get hurt?” Blaise asked, “I mean, I thought they were supposed to be... Well, pretty tough.”

“Unicorns are?” Harry asked.

“They are tough,” Hagrid conceded, “Which is why I'm worried. This isn't the first unicorn to be hurt like this. I think somethin' might be huntin' them.”

“That can't be right,” Millie said, “Unicorns have no natural enemies.”

“Exactly,” Hagrid said. He looked shiftily from side to side, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard, although they were clearly the only people sitting on that side of the lake. Only when he was sure they were alone did he continue in a whisper, “This is unnatural. Unicorn blood is very valuable. I think whatever's doing this is tryina take their blood on purpose.”

“Do you need any help out there, Hagrid?” Harry asked, thinking that the gamekeeper's job seemed rather dangerous, even for someone as large as Hagrid.

“Yeah, we can help you track the unicorn,” Blaise said. Millie nodded in agreement.

“Are yeh crazy?” Hagrid exclaimed, “I can't go lettin' a bunch of kids wander into the forest after dark! It's forbidden to yeh!”

Blaise shrugged, “Yeah, you're right. Letting a bunch of first years wander around that forest would be pretty irresponsible."

“I'm glad I'm not going,” said Millie.

“This _is_ a school for children,” Harry affirmed.

“Righ', well. Tha's more like it...” Hagrid said gruffly, no doubt thinking it was about time his young friends learned to stop meddling.

“Let us know what you find out there!” Blaise called as Hagrid walked away. He then flopped onto the grass next to Harry, looking very much as if he planned to take a nap.

“Are you seriously falling asleep?” Millie asked as she braided blades of grass together absently.

“Why not? It's the perfect weather for it. And after a morning of nothing but studying, a nap is what we need, right Harry?”

But Harry's attention had been arrested elsewhere. He had been staring listlessly at the Herbology greenhouses, wondering what dangerous plant could be hidden in the corridor beyond Fluffy, when he noticed two figures making their way from the castle to the glass structures. He recognized the short, plump figure of Professor Sprout instantly, though the tottering figure in her wake was a mystery to him.

“I'll be right back,” Harry said, pulling his father's cloak out of his pack. He had started carrying it nearly everywhere he went, for just such occasions as this.

Blaise, reclined on the grass, cracked one eye open to observe. Noticing the cloak, he said in a cautious tone, “The stone?”

“There's someone going to the greenhouses with Professor Sprout,” Harry explained, “If I can just sneak in there, maybe I'll figure out what it is she's hiding.”

Blaise closed his eyes and waved his hand dismissively, “Do what you want, Harry. I for one am going to try to enjoy the rest of term _peacefully_.”

“You're going alone?” Millie asked, confirming Harry's suspicion that she had no intention of joining him, either.

“I guess so,” Harry said huffily, “If I'm not back in thirty minutes, come find me.”

“Sure, sure,” Blaise said sleepily, rolling onto his side. Millie gave him a thumbs up.

Harry paused just long enough to glance on all sides, just as Hagrid had done only a few minutes before. Certain that he wouldn't be observed, he threw the cloak over his head and set off for the greenhouses.

He worried that the professor and her companion had already reached their destination and shut the door against him, so it was with relief that he found them loitering just outside the fourth building. Professor Sprout was busy balancing a small glass tank on top of the books Neville Longbottom held for her. Longbottom's face was already bright red and sweaty from the exertion of carrying the heavy texts, but he accepted the added weight uncomplainingly as Professor Sprout used her newly freed hands to dig her wand out from her robes.

“There we are!” Professor Sprout exclaimed happily. Harry watched from under the cloak as she waved her wand, performing a wordless spell which caused the door to swing wide open. She stood aside as Longbottom staggered across the threshold. Harry was close behind, slipping in just before Professor Sprout allowed the door to swing shut again.

“You can put the books down over there,” Professor Sprout said in her usual merry voice, “Thank you again for your help!”

“N-No problem professor,” replied the Gryffindor, hefting the stack onto a wooden table with a grunt.

“Oh, not the case, dear. That belongs in the shade. Let's see... Do you mind putting it in the cabinet for now?”

Longbottom looked into the glass case and gave a start. Harry tried to peer inside, but he feared getting too close. If he bumped into Longbottom he'd be discovered, and he'd have a hard time explaining what he was doing running around under an invisibility cloak in the Herbology greenhouse. From his vantage point, he could see only a small, twisted green lump.

Despite his hesitation, Longbottom obediently lifted the case and carried it carefully to the cabinet, holding it away from his body all the while. Harry was curious to see what kind of plant made the Gryffindor so nervous, but Longbottom shut the cabinet door after depositing the case safely inside. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and gave a sigh before turning back to the professor.

“Now then, you had some questions about the Herbology assignment last week...” Professor Sprout said, turning to her student with a smile.

“Yes, Professor...” Longbottom said timidly, “But first... Can I ask...”

His gaze kept darting to the cabinet in the corner. Harry, his curiosity getting the better of him, edged a bit closer. He didn't want to miss a word of their conversation.

“Yes? Speak up, Mr. Longbottom!”

“Sorry, just... That was Devil's Snare, wasn't it?”

“Oh, very well spotted! Five points to Gryffindor!”

“Thank you, professor... But... Isn't it very dangerous?”

“Oh, a fully mature plant, yes. But that's just a small clipping. Harmless, harmless!”

“But...” Longbottom started to say, but Professor Sprout cut him off.

“Not to worry!” she sang, “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about? Mind you, I won't be saying a word about answers to the exam quetions! Not that you need the extra help, eh Mr. Longbottom?”

Longbottom's ears colored bright red. He was busy stammering that he would never presume to asked the professor such questions as she laughingly led him back out of the greenhouse.

Harry waited until their voices had long faded away before removing his cloak. Tucking it under his robes, he crept toward the cabinet and carefully opened the door. Longbottom had placed the small glass tank into a far corner. Harry's curiosity had been peaked when he heard Longbottom speak of a dangerous plant, but as he stared at the little mass of green vines, he couldn't help but think the nervous Gryffindor had been exaggerating. The tiny plant hardy seemed threatening. Even now it was just sitting in its glass enclosure, looking for all the world like normal, garden-variety ivy...

Harry's train of thought was interrupted when he noticed something odd. He'd been certain that the plant had been coiled in the middle of the tank when he'd seen Neville carrying it before. It was now squished in one corner, as if it has been jostled by Longbottom in the transition to its current resting place. Harry leaned closer, and he could see that one of the little vines had disentangled itself from the rest, and had actually climbed along the tank's corner toward the open top. Harry was amazed that the vine had moved so far in such a short span of time. Even as he watched, the little vine began its progress again, a small, leafy tip poking over the top of its glass enclosure.

Harry stared at it, entranced. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he lifted one hand and slowly extended it toward the vine. He wondered what the leaves would feel like if he touched them... They seemed so soft...

But no sooner had his finger brushed a single leaf than the plant suddenly wrapped itself entirely around his finger. Harry jerked his hand back in surprise. To his horror, the plant did not let go. Instead, the rest of the plant was pulled along with the first vine, and the small mass began to unravel. More vines twisted themselves around his fingers until his entire hand was ensnared. Harry shook his hand in frustration, but the plant would not come loose. Frantically, he used his free hand to pull his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the green menace. But he couldn't think of a spell that would expel the plant without risking injury to himself.

Harry staggered back from the cabinet, the Devil's Snare still gripping him tightly. He was starting to lose feeling in his fingertips. But as soon as he stepped back into the sunlight, the plant's grip loosened. Harry remembered Professor Sprout ordering Longbottom to put the plant in the shade, and he thrust his hand higher, as if to put the plant a little closer to the sun.

Fortunately, it worked. The plant went slack in the sunlight. Harry gathered it in his palm and tossed it recklessly into the cabinet, where the poor thing shied back into the cool shadows. Harry gave it one final glare and slammed the cabinet doors. There was no doubt in his mind which plant Professor Sprout had hidden within the school. If the clipping could be so troublesome, what danger did a full grown Devil's Snare pose?

Harry was still ruminating when a sudden voice broke his concentration.

“Harry Potter?”

Harry flinched, spinning on the spot. His fear at being caught was immediately quenched when he saw that it was only Neville Longbottom, returned to the greenhouse without the professor.

“Oh... Longbottom, what are you doing here?” Harry said, lowering the wand he had raised in defense.

Longbottom was staring at Harry as if he'd sprouted two heads. He lifted a small glass orb in his hand and showed Harry the red smoke-like contents swirling inside.

“I forgot my textbook,” Neville explained, inching toward the pile of books he'd been carrying for Professor Sprout. Harry watched impassively as Neville extracted a book from the bottom of the pile.

“Professor Sprout told me I could come back and fetch it,” Longbottom directed a curious glance at Harry, “What are _you_ doing here?”

The implication was obvious. Longbottom had a reason to be there. Harry didn't. Thinking fast, Harry tried to think of a plausible excuse that the Gryffindor would believe.

“I'm really into plants,” was the best he could come up with.

To his surprise, Longbottom brightened.

“Really?” he asked excitedly.

“I don't know a lot,” Harry said quickly, realizing that if Longbottom started to question him his lie would be revealed, “It's a budding interest... I'm trying to branch out...”

There was a beat where Longbottom did nothing but stare at him, and Harry wondered if his ruse had been found out already. Then Longbottom burst into laughter.

“That's a good one!” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Harry was dumbfounded. Longbottom thought he was funny? _Was he funny?!_

“I had no idea!” Longbottom exclaimed when he'd regained control over himself, “Did you come to ask Professor Sprout about the last assignment, too? The singing leaves of the siren-sagebrush had me totally stumped!”

“Actually... I wanted to asked about...” Harry stammered, then an idea occurred to him. Longbottom seemed to know quite a bit about plants. After all, he had correctly identified the dangerous little specimen currently locked in the cabinet.

“Longbottom, I want you to tell me everything you know about the Devil's Snare,” Harry said boldly.

Longbottom, simple and trusting by nature, shone with enthusiasm. He was only too happy to fulfill Harry's request. Harry thought he'd lucked out, until he realized that Longbottom knew more about the Devil's Snare than he'd anticipated. The two made their way back the castle together, while Longbottom yammered without pause, sharing all the trivia he'd absorbed about the plant, with a few digressions about famous botanists who'd been strangled by it.

“Yes, but how do you defeat it?” Harry said in exasperation after Longbottom had talked for a full twenty minutes.

“Defeat it?”

“I mean, what if it, you know... Snares you? How can you get away?”

Longbottom thought about his answer carefully.

“Well, it can't stand the sun. So long as you can crawl into some sunlight before you suffocate, you're fine.”

“But what if it isn't sunny? What if it's dark, or you're inside?” Harry asked, thinking of the chamber in which Fluffy was kept.

Longbottom thought even harder about this question.

“Well, there is a spell Hermione taught me,” Longbottom said, referring to the student Harry only knew as a bossy know-it-all who'd nearly been killed by a troll on Halloween.

“Only... I haven't had much practice,” Longbottom added.

“Can you show me?”

Neville gave an embarrassed nod and pulled out his wand. He held it before him with a trembling hand.

“You might want to stand back... My magic's a little...”

Harry didn't need an explanation. He'd seen enough of Longbottom's potions blow up in his face during class with Snape to have a pretty good idea of what his wandwork would be like. Harry took several steps back and watched while Neville held his fist before his mouth, clearing his throat.

“ _Lumos Solem_!” he exclaimed with a sweeping motion of his arm.

Harry had expected the spell to fizzle out entirely, but instead they were both blinded by a sudden flash of dazzling light. Spots popped in Harry's vision as the after image faded away. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if to expel the floating bubbles now plaguing his sight.

“Sorry,” Longbottom mumbled. He was also rubbing his eyes, “That was a little more powerful than I intended.”

“No, it was brilliant. Literally,” Harry said.

He was thrilled. If Longbottom could manage the spell, so could he. The Devil's Snare didn't stand a chance.

Longbottom looked at him with watering eyes, then he dissolved into a fit of giggles. Harry grinned back at him, pleased that his second joke was as well accepted as the first.

“You know,” Longbottom started to say, “It's nice to have someone other than Hermione to talk to... About plants and things...”

“Oh, um...” Harry started to say, but he was thankfully saved by a loud shout and the sound of running footsteps.

“Harry!” Blaise cried happily. He was closely followed by Millie, who looked relieved. “There you are, mate! We were about to send a search party!”

Harry gave him a guilty shrug. He hadn't realized the half hour he'd allocated himself had already elapsed long ago. Still, it served Blaise and Millie right. They were the one's who hadn't wanted to join him in the first place.

“See you around I guess,” Harry said to Longbottom, preparing to follow his friends. Blaise, who had ignored Longbottom's presence entirely, was loudly proclaiming that all of his fretting over Harry had worked up an appetite.

“Sure...” Longbottom replied skeptically. Harry began to turn away, but was suddenly called back by the Gryffindor.

Harry faced him again, painfully aware that Blaise and Millie had stopped and were looking back a them curiously.

Longbottom offered Harry a shy smile, “I never thanked you for saving my Rememberall.”

Harry almost asked him what a Rememberall was, until he remembered the little glass orb. It had to have been the same device he'd caught at the beginning of the year. He'd nearly forgotten the incident with everything else that had happened since then.

“Oh yeah, don't mention it.” Harry said modestly. Longbottom gave him a nod, squared his shoulders, and left without another word. Harry watched him walk down the hall, marveling that he'd managed to have a somewhat normal conversation with a Gryffindor student. He couldn't remember doing that with any students in the other houses.

“What was that about?” asked Blaise when Harry joined his friends.

“You'll never believe it,” Harry said, “I know what Sprout's using to guard the stone! And better still, Longbottom's taught me a spell we can use to defeat it!”

“ _Slongbottom_?” Blaise sneered derisively, “Are you sure that spell's safe to use, Harry?”

“Don't make fun of him,” Harry said, glancing down the hall that had recently been illuminated by Longbottom's surprising powerful spell, “He's alright.”

Blaise gave a double take and suddenly grabbed Harry by the shoulders.

“Ooooh no! No way! Unacceptable!”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Harry, I put up with Millie and Hagrid, but I draw the line at Longbottom! I forbid you to be friends with him, do you understand?”

“Whatever,” Harry said, disentangling himself from Blaise's vice-like grip. He shot a look toward Millie, who seemed not the least bit insulted by Blaise's implication that he hadn't wanted to be friends with her. Instead, she returned Harry's apologetic gaze with a shrug.

“So what's the spell?” she asked instead.

“Oh, so you're suddenly interested in the stone again, are you?” Harry asked.

“Just show us the spell, Potter.”

Harry grinned, drawing his wand in mimicry of Neville before.

“Alright, prepare to be _enlightened_.”

 


	11. Through the Trap Door - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter was quite a bit longer than the others, so I decided to split it into two parts. Enjoy.

Blaise and Millie's apathy toward the fate of the Philosopher's Stone continued right up until the beginning of their exams, despite Harry having told them about his encounter with the Devil's Snare. Millie didn't think it was conclusive evidence that Professor Sprout had used the plant in defense of the stone. Blaise didn't seem to care either way.

“I've got money,” he said blandly one day before their charms exam, “And so have you, Harry. What do we need a stone that can turn metal into gold for?”

Harry didn't know how to explain that for him, stealing the stone meant a lot more than financial security. He was mostly motivated by a spiteful desire to prevent Snape from getting the stone, that much was true. But in recent weeks, a second motive had started to take form. Harry reasoned that if he was able to rescue the stone from Snape's oily clutches, that would make him something like a hero to Flamel. Harry was already famous, or rather infamous, for the tragedy that befell his family. He was starting to like the idea of becoming renowned for something he had achieved himself.

It was a secret wish he could never say aloud, lest his friends make fun of him. Besides, the fact remained that they knew only half of the dangers guarding the stone, and they still didn't know how to get past Fluffy. And so Harry tried to focus his attention on transfiguring a mouse into a snuffbox for Professor McGonagall, and somehow managed to make a pineapple tap-dance across his desk for Professor Flitwick. Practical exams were odd.

The final exam was in History of Magic, a test that Harry was certain he'd failed miserably. He spared a few glances toward Blaise and Millie to see how they were faring, but from the expressions on their faces, neither of them were doing much better. It was a shame that Professor Binns hadn't quizzed them on the life and career of Nicolas Flamel. Harry was certain he'd have passed with flying colors.

Although the exam had been a disaster, Harry couldn't help but cheer with the rest of the students as he rolled up his parchment to hand in. Testing was finally over. There was only one week left in the term, and they could use it however they wanted until the exam results came out.

Harry already knew how he was going to use his final week at Hogwarts. He was going to make a grab for the stone, whether Blaise and Millie agreed to help him or not.

But for the moment, he decided to follow his friends outdoors along with most of the student body to enjoy the fine day and celebrate the end of exams. They settled at their favorite spot near the edge of the lake and watched three Gryffindor boys tease the tentacles of the giant squid, who as basking luxuriously in the shallows.

Millie pulled out a scrap of parchment and began doodling strange little figures. Blaise had stretched himself on the ground with his arms behind his head and looked prepared fall asleep. Outdoor naps were becoming an annoying habit of his. Harry pulled his snitch out of his pocket and began to toy with it carelessly, lost in his own thoughts.

Suddenly, his scar began to sting. Harry gave a hiss of pain and reflexively moved to cover the lightning-shaped mark. Millie glanced at him and Blaise opened one eye.

“Something wrong, Harry?” Blaise asked.

Harry rubbed his scar thoughtfully. The only other time he could remember his scar hurting him had been at the very beginning of the year, when he first laid eyes on Snape. It troubled him that it hurt again now.

“It's just my scar...” he said self-consciously. He didn't like drawing attention to the symbol of his ill-gotten fame.

“It's never hurt you before, though. Has it?” Millie asked, turning her attention partially back toward her doodles.

“Actually... It has hurt before. But just once. And because of Snape... I think it's a warning. Snape might be trying to steal the stone.”

Blaise and Millie exchanged a look, then Blaise pushed himself into a seated position. He moved closer to Harry and wrapped a friendly arm over his shoulders.

“Listen mate, you have to give up on this. We've only got a week left in the term. Let's enjoy it!”

“And let Snape win?” Harry asked, hating the idea of tossing out all their hard work.

“Snape's not gonna get it either,” Blaise said confidently, “He nearly got his leg torn off by Fluffy, and I know he's not gonna try that again without a foolproof plan. But Hagrid is the only one who knows how to tame that animal, and he's completely over the moon for Dumbledore. There's no way he'd ever let him down, right?”

He had nearly talked Harry into submission. But it was his mention of Hagrid that sent Harry shooting to his feet with a startled cry.

“What? What is it?” Blaise asked in confusion, but Harry was already sprinting toward Hagrid's cabin.

“Hagrid!” Harry shouted over his shoulder, “I just thought of something!”

Harry had his back toward his friends and couldn't see the looks on their faces, but he could hear their footsteps behind him, and knew they were in close pursuit.

“Hagrid!” Harry shouted, his fist hammering against the door, “Hagrid, are you home?”

“Yeh, I'm home, I'm home!” Hagrid shouted from inside. Harry could hear his heavy footsteps drawing closer and took a step back.

“What's gotten inter yeh Harry?” Hagrid asked in a baffled tone, “I thought summat mighta been attackin yeh for all the racket yeh was makin'.”

“Sorry Hagrid, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to ask you something,” Harry said as his friends drew close enough to overhear their conversation.

“Well, what's this about, then?”

“Do you remember the night you won Norbert in a card game?”

Hagrid shifted uneasily on his large feet and looked slightly embarrassed.

“Well, a bit...”

“Do you remember what the stranger... the man who gave you the egg... Do you remember what he looked like?”

“I didn't see 'em. He never took his cloak off.”

“Never took his cloak off?” Blaise asked with a tone of surprise. Millie had a shocked expression on her face. Harry felt very pleased with himself.

“It's not that unusual,” Hagrid said defensively, “Yeh get all kinds in the Hogs Head. Many of em don't want ter be recognized, if yeh catch my meaning. 'E mighta been a dragon dealer, mightn't he? Like I said, never took his cloak off.”

Harry smirked at Blaise with triumph written in every feature. He knew it couldn't have been coincidence that the one thing in the world Hagrid always wanted was a dragon, and a stranger suddenly shows up with an egg he conveniently loses to him? Harry was willing to bet that the mystery man had been Snape, and that he lost the game on purpose to get Hagrid talking about magical beasts. Depending on how much Hagrid had to drink that night, Snape might have known how to get past Fluffy for weeks.

Blaise scowled at the look of superiority on Harry's face and followed up with his own line of questioning.

“Hagrid, what did you talk about? Did you mention the school?”

“Mighta come up,” said Hagrid, scrunching up his face in a effort to remember, “Yeah, he asked me what I did, and I told him I was gamekeeper here. Then he asked me a bit about the sort of creatures I look after, an' I told him...”

“And did you tell him you'd always been interested in dragons?” asked Harry, baiting him further.

Hagrid's look of discomfort grew.

“Well, yeh see... I can't remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks. But yeh, I think it did come up, cause he mentioned the egg to me and we got a game of cards started... Right, he said he had to be sure I could handle one first. So I told him after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy.”  
Blaise groaned and turned away. Millie looked plainly astounded. She asked, “And did he seem interested in Fluffy?”

“Well, yeah! How many three-headed dogs do you meet, especially around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him. Jus' play him a bit a music an he'll go straight off to sleep...”

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

“I shouldna told you that! Forget I said anything...”

“Thanks Hagrid!” Harry said, turning on the spot and taking off across the grounds once again. This time, Blaise and Millie were right behind him. They left Hagrid standing in his doorway, looking very concerned.

“Ha!” Harry said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What are you so pleased about?” Blaise asked grumpily.

“Well, I was right all along, wasn't I?”

“What? About Snape? I never said he wasn't trying to trick Hagrid. I just didn't know he'd actually done it...”

“You said it'd be safe. You said that so long as he didn't know how to get past Fluffy there was no way he could steal it. You said...”

“I know what I said!” Blaise said furiously.

“Well he knows how to get past Fluffy now, doesn't he? And he's known for weeks. Quirrell must have been the last piece of the puzzle, and he's clearly broken him. So now there's nothing standing in the way of Snape and the stone!”

“Alright, fine.” Blaise said, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “But you're forgetting one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Dumbledore!” said Blaise, “If Snape's had all the information he needs to get past the stone's safeguards, then why hasn't he taken it and ran? Obviously, he doesn't want to be caught by the headmaster.”

“So you're suggesting we tell Dumbledore that he's going to try to steal it rather than take it ourselves?” Harry asked, feeling disappointed.

“Harry... Do I need to remind you that even with Hagrid's information, we still only know how to get past three of the enchantments? We never found out what McGonagall, Quirrell, or Snape himself had planned.”

Harry finally slowed his footsteps as they entered the castle. Coming to a complete stop, he turned to face Blaise.

“Alright. Lead the way.”

“Huh?”

“We'll go tell Dumbledore. Lead the way.”

“I don't know where his office is!” Blaise blurted. “You're the one who followed him that time!”

“We never made it to his office,” said Harry, “I talked with him in the hall. I don't know where it is either.”

They turned to look at Millie, who merely shrugged her square shoulders. They had never been told where in the castle Dumbledore resided, and they had never known anyone who had been sent to see him.

“Well, I guess that's off the table,” said Harry, “We'll just have to...”

“What do you three think you're doing inside on a day like this?”

It was Snape. Harry felt his stomach do an unpleasant flip as he wondered how much of their conversation Snape had overheard.

“Is it suddenly against the rules for students to be inside the castle during the day?” Harry blurted in his surprise, “I had no idea.”

Snape's eyes flashed in anger. He seemed to be on the verge of making some cutting remark, but Millie stepped in front of Harry and flashed a rare smile at the professor. Of the trio, Snape seemed to despise Millie the least.

“We were just hoping to see Headmaster Dumbledore, that's all,” Millie said brightly.

“See Headmaster Dumbledore?” Snape repeated, as if this were a very suspicious thing to do, “Why?”

“We wanted to tell him how the exams went, and see if he can give us some advice for next year,” Millie said, the lie rolling off her tongue naturally.

“And what makes you think the headmaster is interested in your exams?” Snape asked coldly. “Besides, he left ten minutes ago.”

“Wait, he left?” Harry said, pushing his way around Millie. “You mean he's gone?”

“Yes Potter, that's what _he left_ means,” Snape said testily, “He received an urgent owl from the ministry and left for London. I highly doubt that anything you have to say is more important than the Minister for Magic.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as Millie cut in front of Harry again, “You're right, Professor. We'll just have to wait for our exam results to come out, I suppose.”

Snape continued to eye them with cold suspicion. Harry was certain he had heard some part of their conversation. As he continued to glare at Snape over Millie's shoulder, he locked eyes with the teacher. To his surprise, Snape's face paled, and his lip twitched into a grimace. He muttered something to them about “going outside and enjoy the sunshine...” before he stalked away from them, walking further into the shadows of the castle.

Harry didn't understand what forced Snape to leave so suddenly without at least taking some points from Gryffindor on account of Harry, but he shrugged the strangeness aside. Blaise and Millie were both looking at him for answers.

“So what do we do now?” Blaise asked.

Harry didn't know. Blaise had been right about one thing. They were completely unprepared for whatever waited past Fluffy, but with Dumbledore gone, Snape was free to take the stone whenever he wanted. It was a notion Harry hated to consider almost as much as he hated Snape himself.

To the surprise of both Harry and Blaise, it was Millie who answered, “We steal it, of course.”

When Harry and Blaise both turned to gape at her, Millie frowned. “That's what we've been planning all year, isn't it?”

Harry felt a surge of affection for Millie. He would have hugged her, except he thought she might take offense to the physical contact. Instead, he grinned and turned to Blaise, waiting for his response.

Blaise looked from Harry to Millie and back again. After much internal deliberation he finally sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I hope Fluffy kills me,” he said in a defeatist tone of voice, “Because if my mum ever finds out about this, she'll do a lot worse than a three-headed dog.”

“It happens tonight,” Harry said with finality. “We can't give Snape a chance to take it first. We take the cloak, and we go tonight.”

 


	12. Through the Trap Door - Part Two

After dinner, the three of them sat nervously apart in the common room. At least, Harry was nervous. Blaise looked as if he hadn't a care in the world. He was busy casting lazy charms at the fireplace, making the flames change color and give off different aromas. Millie had retreated to an armchair not far from them, busily scribbling on a roll of parchment she kept handy for when she felt bored. Harry envied them. He thought about practicing a few more grabs with the snitch, as he would need every ounce of skill he possessed to get past Flitwick's charm tonight, but all he could do was stare at the blue flames conjured by Blaise, trying to be braver than he felt. After all, this was his idea. He had to be the leader.

Miraculously, no one bothered them. A few second year girls giggled and drew closer as Blaise charmed the flames to a rosy pink with a light, flowery scent. But they scooted away again when he flipped them to a sickly green that smelled of boiled cabbage. Harry felt his own stomach roil at the smell and hissed at Blaise, “Will you stop doing that? The changing smells are starting to make me nauseous.”

“Oh sorry!” Blaise apologized, “I didn't realize I was doing it.”

The flames resumed their normal orange-yellow hue and began to waft the scent of burning wood through the room once again. Blaise leaned his back against the couch he shared with Harry, twiddling his wand between his fingers and betraying the first sign of his own anxiety. They didn't talk. Neither did Millie, but then she had never been much of a talker. It was impossible to know what she was thinking as she distracted herself with drawing.

Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

Finally, Millie spoke, “Better get the cloak.”

Harry reached under his robes and realized with a sinking feeling that the cloak wasn't there. He'd left it in the dormitory, folded neatly in his satchel along with used quills and a few textbooks. He told the others he would grab it, and walked quickly up the stairs. He moved quietly to avoid waking his sleeping roommates, though he was sure he'd never be heard over the sound of Goyle's raucous snoring. He had just pulled out the cloak when his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy, thinking that it was almost as if Hagrid had given him permission to embark on this task, having provided the very thing Harry would use to get past his dog.

As he turned to run back down to the common room, he heard a quiet voice whisper behind him, “Potter?”

Harry's blood turned to ice. He already knew whose voice it was, but still he glanced over his shoulder to see Malfoy sitting up in bed, rubbing his eye sleepily.

“What are you doing?” he asked through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep, Malfoy.” Harry hissed through his teeth.

But Malfoy had seen the cloak in Harry's hand. He couldn't possibly know that it was an invisibility cloak, but his eyes grew large all the same. He was suddenly wide awake.

“Are you going out? At this hour? What are you up to?”

“It's none of your business, Malfoy,” Harry whispered urgently, certain that at any moment Malfoy's rising volume would wake Crabbe and Goyle, and then he would really be in trouble.

“Now _go back to sleep_.”

Harry turned to go and began walking down the stairs, but behind him he could hear Malfoy throwing off his bed-covers.

“I'm coming with you.”

“No. You are not.”

“If you don't let me come with you then I'll tell my father...”

“You can tell your father where he can stuff it, for all I care!” Harry said angrily, “If you know what's good for you you'll butt out!”

Harry reached the common room feeling ready to transfigure Malfoy into something really unpleasant. He could tell on by the looks on Blaise and Millie's faces that they were not pleased to see him emerge from the stairs with Malfoy in tow. Harry returned their accusing glances with one of supplication, glancing pointedly at an ornate grandfather clock sitting in the corner. They had already wasted too much time. Snape was probably past Fluffy by now.

“Ah-ha!” Malfoy said, as if he understood anything about their plan, “You've got the others here, too! I knew you were up to something. So where are you going? Down to the kitchens for a late night snack?”

“This is a bit more important than that, Draco,” Blaise said, feigning a casual air, “Unfortunately, it's a private party, and you aren't invited.”

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy said pompously, “And what are you going to do to stop me?”

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” Millie shouted without warning.

Harry hadn't even seen her pull her wand, but suddenly Malfoy crashed to the floor, his arms pinned to his sides and his legs glued together.

Harry and Blaise stood over Malfoy in shock. His jaws were clamped shut, preventing him from speaking, but his eyes stared wildly at them with an expression of complete horror.

“What've you done do him?” Harry whispered.

“Full body bind,” said Millie carelessly, “Are we going to do this or not?”

“Alright. It's now or never, I suppose,” said Blaise with an air of fatalism. He stepped over Malfoy's prone form. “Have a nice nap, Draco!”

“Don't wait up for us, OK?” Harry said, stooping to give Malfoy a condescending pat on the head before following the others out the door. They waited until they were out of sight before slipping the cloak over their heads.

The confrontation with Malfoy seemed like a bad omen to Harry, but they were in luck as they made their way to the third floor. They saw no one except the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin House ghost, who seemed too preoccupied with groaning, shaking chains, and haunting the school like a proper ghost rather than searching for students out of bed. They passed by him without being detected and were soon at the entrance to the forbidden corridor.

The door was already ajar.

“Well, what did I tell you?” Harry whispered, “I knew Snape wouldn't miss this chance.”  
Seeing the open door impressed the seriousness of the situation upon them all. Harry felt a tug on the cloak as Blaise came to a full stop, clearly hesitating. Millie was breath in short, light gasps. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to them.

“If you want to go back, you can,” he said. “Take the cloak. I won't need it now.”

“D-Don't be stupid,” Blaise stammered after the briefest of pauses. Somehow, seeing him afraid boosted Harry's courage. He wanted to be brave for his friends.

He turned to look at Millie, who was surveying him with impatience.

“Are we going or not?” she whispered.

Harry grinned, and pushed the door open.

Low, rumbling growls met their ears, accompanied by a delicate melody. All three of Fluffy's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though he was fast asleep.

“What's that at its feet?” Blaise whispered.

“I think it's a harp,” said Harry, squinting at the gold object shining in the gloom. The music notes were drifting toward them from the instrument, which appeared to be playing itself.

“Snape must have left it there.”

“It must wake up the moment you stop playing...” Blaise said thoughtfully.

Even as he spoke, the tune suddenly stopped, as if the harp was responding to their chatter, offended at having its song interrupted. Almost immediately, Fluffy began to growl in earnest, as first one, then two, then three pairs of eyes opened and began searching the darkness for an intruder it could smell, but not see.

“Well, I guess that's my cue,” said Harry, lifting the flute to his lips. He blew, and although it wasn't a discernible tune, Fluffy's eyes began to droop on the first note. The dog slumped to the floor, two of its heads resting on its massive paws, with one in the middle. It was then that Harry noticed what lay on the floor directly in front of the dog. There was a trapdoor.

Blaise had spotted it too. “Keep playing,” he whispered to Harry as he slipped out from under the cloak.

“I think I'll be able to pull it open,” Blaise said as he inspected the iron ring nailed into the crude trapdoor. “Want to go first, Millie?”

“Ha!” Millie barked into Harry's ear, “No.”

Blaise grinned, “Alright, here goes nothing.”

He bent and pulled at the ring of the door, which swung up and open.

“Well? What's down there?” asked Millie. Harry was still busy playing random notes on his flute.

“Not sure, too dark,” Blaise said, peering into the darkness, he pulled out his wand and muttered, “ _Lumos_.”

The tip of the wand emitted a soft, white light, but it seemed incapable of penetrating the inky darkness below the trapdoor.

“There's no ladder or stairs that I can see, so we must have to drop down.”

“What if it's a trap?”

“I'm quite certain that it _is_ a trap. We're trying to steal something, after all.”

“Well what if you drop down there and break both of your ankles?”

Harry gave an impatient tweet on the flute, causing both of his friends to jump in surprise but miraculously not waking the sleeping dog. He glared at him, jerking his head to continue. Every second the wasted allowed Snape to get closer to the stone.

Blaise seemed to have a moment of clarity, and he looked at Millie.

“Levitate me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Flitwick's spell. The one we learned first term. Use it to lower me into this pit and I'll tell you what I find.”

“I can't!” Millie said instantly, “You know I'm no good at charms!”

“Well it's either that or you go first into the chamber. Which is it going to be?”

Millie glared at him, but it was obvious she didn't want to go down first. Drawing out her wand from her robes, she pointed it menacingly at Blaise.

“Now, wait a minute,” Blaise cautioned, holding his hands in front of him protectively, “You're gripping that thing like you're going to stab me with it. The levitation charm won't work with such a stiff hand. You need to be more fluid. Remember, swish and flick.”

Millie obviously resented the coaching, but Harry saw her correct her grip on her wand. Holding it delicately between her thumb and two fingers she practiced the sweeping motion once, twice, then murmured the words, “ _Wingardium leviosa._ ”

Blaise jolted off the ground, but hovered in place easily. Harry watched, entranced, as Millie guided him with her wand toward the black opening of the chamber below. He was so transfixed that he forgot to play the flute, and as soon as the music stopped he could hear Fluffy growl menacingly behind him. He quickly put the flute to his lips and began to play again.

Blaise dropped lower and lower into the pit until only his head was visible. He rotated slowly in the air as he descended, turning so that he could give Harry a final wink before disappearing entirely. Harry and Millie both rushed to the edge of the trapdoor to peer into the gloom after him. Millie apparently broke her concentration, because after a second they could hear a soft thump which sounded like Blaise had dropped onto something below.

“Blaise!” Harry whispered, forgetting once again to play the flute as he listened intently for his friend's voice in the dark. “Blaise, are you alright? What's down there?”

“Harry?” called Blaise calmly, “Do you remember that spell Longbottom mentioned to defeat Devil's Snare?”

“Of course,” Harry called back, “It's _lumos solem._ ”

“Oh, brilliant,” Blaise said, “Then I suggest you jump. It's quite soft.”

Despite Blaise's calm assurances, Harry had a bad feeling about where this was leading. Behind him Fluffy was growling and staggering drowsily to his feet, so there was no time to argue. Harry and Millie exchanged one final glance, nodded to one another, and jumped down below.

They landed with the same soft thud onto a large, leafy mass. Blaise was only a few feet from them covered head to toe in thick green vines. No sooner had Harry landed that vines of the same quality quickly began coiling themselves around his legs. The Devil's Snare was far larger than the sample he had encountered in the Herbology greenhouse. It was as if Professor Sprout had used an _engorgio_ charm on it, as well.

“Everyone cozy?” Blaise said, feigning calm in an effort to prevent the plant from strangling him faster. “Yes? Well Millie, I hope you still have that wand in your hand, because we're going to need it.”

“Why am I the one who has to do the charm again?” asked Millie in an irritated voice.

Harry still had use of his right arm. He used it to feel around in his robes and grab his own wand from his pocket.

“I've got it,” he said, “You might want to close your eyes.”

Millie and Blaise squeezed their eyes shut as Harry shouted, “ _Lumos solem!_ ”

Instead of the soft white luminescence which usually accompanied the wand-lighting charm, the chamber was filled by a warm light with the brilliant intensity of the sun. Harry kept his eyes shut tight to prevent himself from being blinded as the Devil's Snare quickly uncoiled itself from his arm and legs. The plant shrank back into the darkest corner, desperate to get out of the light, leaving Harry and his friends to back against the opposite wall. Harry canceled the charm and waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the gloom. Blaise pulled out his own wand and used the simple _lumos_ charm to light it. He smiled at Harry.

“Nicely done.”

Harry smiled back and lit his own wand once more. Millie followed their lead, and the three of them made their way down the next corridor.

“What do you think it'll be next?” Blaise whispered.

Harry listened carefully. From behind a wooden door in front of him, he could hear a faint clinking sound. The metallic _click_ reminded him of something he'd heard before, of wings tapping on glass...

“I think it's going to be Flitwick's...” Harry said. He placed his hand on the wooden door and pushed. It swung open easily. Inside were hundreds of enchanted keys. Each one had a pair of delicate, opalescent wings attached to its stem. They fluttered in the golden light above their heads.

“Well, at least it's bright enough to see,” Blaise said. He ended the charm but kept his wand safely in hand, just in case. He then jogged over to another door directly across the chamber from them. He tried pushing it open, pulling it open, and finally pointed his wand at the handle.

“ _Alohamora,_ ” he said, but the door didn't budge. He turned back to Harry and Millie with a shrug, “Worth a shot.”

Harry turned his attention back to the keys. He knew Professor Flitwick wouldn't have gone to all this trouble only to have the door open with a simple charm. It was obvious that they were supposed to catch one of the keys. He scanned among the rainbow-colored keys carefully, searching for one that somehow stood out from the rest. Finally, he spotted a large, silver key with a badly bent wing fluttering near the ceiling. Harry remembered how he'd bent the wing of the key in Flitwick's office when he caught it, and thought this was probably the one. Snape must have already shoved it into the lock.

“But how did he catch it?” Harry asked aloud.

“Harry, look!” Millie said. She pointed toward a wall where a line of booms rested. They looked like the brooms they had used for flying lessons at the beginning of the year, and Harry was not keen to try grabbing at an enchanted key on one of the unreliable school brooms. He missed his Nimbus 2000. If only Mrs. Zabini had let him bring it to school...

“Come on, Harry!” Blaise said. He quickly grabbed one of the sturdier looking brooms, and even Millie followed suit. Harry decided that if he could catch Longbottom's rememberall on one of the rickety school brooms, then he could do this too. The three of them kicked off the ground and sailed easily into the air. Harry had lost sight of the silver key, but he told the others what to look for, and the three of them set to work, zooming around the chamber.

Millie spotted the key first, but it was Harry's constant practice with the snitch that paid off. Laying himself flat against the handle of his broom, he fell into a perfect dive, swooping past both Millie and Blaise and lifting up just before striking the hard stone floor, the key clutched in his hand.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Harry ignored the cheers of his friends and landed quickly. He rushed to the door and turned the key in the lock. It opened smoothly. Harry held it open as he released the key again. It fluttered away feebly, looking very battered from being manhandled twice.

Blaise and Millie had dismounted their brooms and where quickly at his side, darting into the next chamber. No one said a word, but Harry knew what they must be thinking. They had already faced the three challenges they'd prepared themselves for. What came next would be a complete mystery.

They stood with their backs to the door, wands at the ready, wondering which professor had set the next task.

They were in another dark chamber. It was silent. Harry could just make out a few large, imposing shapes in the gloom, like statues or gravestones. Without warning, torches ignited themselves along the sides of the chamber, illuminating the statutes and dazzling Harry's eyes.

Harry waited for something to happen – for the statues to spring to life and attack, or for some beast to come skulking out of the shadowy corners of the room – but nothing happened. Harry took a cautious step forward, flanked by his two friends. He realized that what he took to be statues were actually chess pieces. On their side were two rows of black pieces, while the white pieces faced them across a chessboard-patterned marble floor.

Harry had a wrenching feeling of unease in his stomach.

“Anyone know how to play chess?” he asked. Blaise and Millie both shook their heads. “Right. Well, maybe we can just get across?”

They stared at one another with trepidation, then Harry led the way across the board. He could see the entrance to the next chamber beyond the larger-than-life chess pieces, but as they drew nearer the white pawns sprang to life, blocking their path with swords made of stone.

“This has McGonagall written all over it,” Blaise said testily.

“So there's no way around it. We'll have to play,” Harry said, desperately trying to remember the rules of chess.

But Millie surprised them both by lifting her wand into the faceless visage of one of the pawns. “I don't think so,” she said. The she whipped her wand at the statue and shouted, “ _Flipendo_!”

The white pawn was blasted backward, toppling into a bishop and a knight. Harry and Blaise had no time to be impressed, as the other pieces, both black and white, began to charge the board, ready to do battle.

Harry ducked as a knight on horseback swung a lethal looking mace over his head.

“Millie!” he shouted over the sudden din, “I could use a curse, right about now!”

“Try _expulso!_ ” she shouted, pointing her wand at an oncoming rook. Harry watched it explode into a shower of rubble.

He pointed his own wand at the knight and shouted forcefully, “ _Expulso!_ ”

He was delighted by the immediate success. The knight burst apart, stones flying in every direction. Harry had to cover his head for protection.

“I think the black pieces may actually be on our side?” Blaise shouted as he dodged a bishop. Harry spared a glance around the room and saw it was true. The black pieces were busy grappling with their white adversaries. As Millie continued to fire spells right and left, the black side was slowly advancing across the board, gaining ground.

“ _Geminio_!” Blaise shouted, firing a spell at one of the black pieces. Harry watched in awe as their ally split into two identical pieces. The twin knights quickly fell onto a white bishop, tearing it to pieces. Harry pointed his own wand at the black queen, who was doing a fine job of cutting down white pawns with her massive stone sword. Mimicking the spell he'd seen Blaise perform seconds before, he duplicated the queen, and her twin sister began gliding slowly across the board, taking down pieces in her path. She seemed to be moving toward the white king, who in all the melee had not moved from his position.

Harry had an idea. He knew enough about the rules of chess to know that the game ended when one check-mated the king. He thought if he could get the king to surrender, then the other pieces would stop fighting them. He felt this theory confirmed at the sight of the white king, who for the first time began gliding away as the black queen he'd created advanced.

“ _Reducto_!” Harry said, firing the spell at a pile of rubble to blast it out of his path. He took off after the king, thinking between himself and the queen he'd be able to block the king in a corner. He had to dodge fighting pieces as he went, avoiding the swings of maces, swords, and lances. He didn't even see the advancing rook about to plow him over until he heard Blaise scream, “ _Immobilus!_ ” and the piece froze only inches from him.

“Thanks!” Harry shouted, waving to his friend over his shoulder as he continued to sprint across the board.

“Just check the king!” Blaise said, catching on to Harry's plan.

Harry hurdled over a fallen knight, dodged around two dueling bishops, and finally stood before the king just as the queen had him cornered. Harry expected the queen to drive her sword through the king has he'd seen her do to the other pieces, and he braced himself for the blast. Instead, the pieces froze. There was a terrible moment of anticipation while Harry waited for something to happen. Then the sword gripped between the hands of the king, pristine from lack of use, fell from his hands and landed at Harry's feet.

The warring pieces stopped immediately, and Harry's friends emerged from the cloud of dust on the battlefield. Millie's hair looked mussed and had a fine layer of white powder, and Blaise had a shallow cut above one of his eyes, but otherwise they looked unharmed. Harry grabbed both their hands to help them over some of the rocky debris, and together they walked toward the next door.

“You guys are amazing,” Harry said, feeling like he should say something to them after that experience, “Where did you learn all of those high-level spells?”

“You weren't so bad, yourself,” said Blaise, running a hand over his short hair to dispel some of the dust. “Anyway, you can't help but pick up a few things when you've spent all of your time hanging out in the library.”

Millie didn't say anything, but then she'd always been talented at the spells which caused the greatest amount of destruction.

They hesitated before opening the next door.

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Harry.

Blaise touched the cut above his eye and winced, “Whatever it is, I hope it's friendlier than than McGonagall's chessboard.”

“Snape or Quirrell,” Millie reminded them. “That's all that's left.”

Harry looked at his friends and they looked back at him. At his nod, they all three placed a hand on the door, the other gripping their wands, and pushed.

The door swung open to reveal the most disgusting smell any of them had ever encountered.

“Ugh!” Harry said, throwing his arm over his face to block the putrid aroma. “What is it?”

“Some kind of pestilence?” Blaise guessed, covering both his nose and mouth.

Millie was pointing with her wand toward a large figure lying face-down in the center of the room.

“Troll...” she said. Her voice had a nasal quality, as she was pinching her nostrils closed.

“Troll?” Blaise said, aghast, “You mean like the one that got in on Halloween?”

“Maybe that's how it got in,” Harry said, wanting to inspect the creature but unwilling to draw nearer to the source of the awful smell. “Maybe it wasn't a distraction. Maybe Quirrell was just transporting it down here to protect the stone.”

“Well, whatever. It's knocked out now. Though I don't know how Snape did it, they're supposed to be naturally immune from charms and spells...”  
“Can we just get out of here?” Millie asked, “That thing reeks.”

Harry and Blaise didn't argue, and the three of them raced across the room to the next chamber.

“Only Snape's...” Harry said. This time there was no hesitation as they opened the door. All three of them were eager to get away from the troll, partially because they were afraid it would wake at any moment, but mostly because it smelled so terrible.

Harry didn't know what he was expecting, but a table lined with potion bottles was not it. Of course, he knew that Snape was the potions master, but what was Harry expected to do? Identify each potion by smell or something like that? Harry wasn't wild about the idea. He remembered Snape saying in one of his lectures that there were poisons so potent, that even inhaling some of the vapor could knock one unconscious for days.

Knowing that their only option was to press on, they proceeded into the room. They had no sooner cleared the threshold than flames erupted both behind them and across the archway beyond. A wall of purple fire blocked the way back, while a sinister black inferno marred the path forward. They were trapped by the enchanted flames.

Without another option, they stood before the table and looked down at the bottles. Sitting in front of the row was a piece of parchment, a message written out in Snape's neat scrawl.

 

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

 

Millie groaned, voicing exactly the way Harry was feeling.

“Great, a riddle,” she said without enthusiasm, “How are we supposed to solve this?”

Blaise picked up the paper and read it over again, frowning. “Mum always used to recite riddles to me when I was little. She said a lot of magical creatures are fond of them, and we'd play games to solve some of the more famous ones.”

“There are famous riddles?” Harry asked.

“Sure there are. The really clever ones.”

“So can you solve this one?”

Blaise shook his head, “This one's different. This is unique. Snape must have developed it himself. Maybe if I had some scrap paper and half an hour to work it out...”

“We don't have half an hour,” Harry prodded, “Snape's probably in the chamber with the stone right now. If we don't hurry, he'll escape with it.”

“Alright, fine!” sighed Blaise, staring at the bottles on the table, “Let's see. Seven bottles total. Three are poison, two are wine. The remaining two will get us out of here; one forward and one back.”

“So which one are we supposed to drink?” Millie asked.

“Give me a minute!” Blaise said testily, staring down at the riddle again. Harry joined him, peering over his shoulder so he could read the passage. Millie watched them glumly, clearly feeling that riddles were not her strong suit.

“There will always be poison to the left of the nettle wine,” Harry said, thinking aloud. “Doesn't that mean that the bottle on the far left can't be wine?”

“Right, and we know that the biggest bottle and the smallest bottle aren't the poison.”

Together, they worked their way through the clues until they had nearly figured out the riddle.

“I think this is the one that will move us forward,” Blaise said, pointing to one of the bottles they hadn't been able to agree on.

“I don't know...” Harry said, feeling uncertain. Millie was frowning at them both. She had been waiting silently for a few moments, listening to them talk. Now she was inspecting the riddle herself.

“It has to be this one,” Blaise said, his confidence in himself mounting. “I'll go first.”

“Wait!” Millie suddenly cried. But it was too late. Blaise had already grabbed the bottle and sipped the liquid inside.

Harry and Millie stared at him in wonder, and Blaise looked at them triumphantly.

“What? See, I'm fine.”

Then he fell to the floor, convulsing horribly. A sickly black foam began bubbling out of his mouth.

“Blaise!” Harry shouted, falling on his knees next to his friend. Instinctively, he rolled Blaise onto his side to keep him from choking on the black bile.

“Harry! Here,” Millie said, handing Harry one of the bottles from the table. She gripped another in her own hand.

“What is it?” Harry said, desperately hoping it was an antidote to the poison Blaise had just consumed, although the riddle had said nothing about an antidote.

“It's the one that will let you continue forward,” Millie said, her voice wavering slightly.

“What?” Harry said, momentarily forgetting about their mission in his concern for Blaise.

“Harry, you're right. Someone has to stop Snape. You're the one who pushed us this far.” Millie held up the bottle she clutched in her own hand, “This will let me go back. I'll take Blaise to the hospital wing and get help. You should keep going.”

“But... Are you sure about this?” Harry asked. Blaise's convulsions had stopped, but his eyes were closed and he was breathing shallowly.

Millie looked scared, but she nodded, “I was listening. And I think... I think this is right.”

She lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. There was only enough in the bottle for one person. She and Harry stared at each other fearfully, the seconds feeling like hours, but nothing happened. Millie didn't experience the same reaction as Blaise.

“OK. So that has to be right,” Millie said, gesturing toward Harry's potion, “Go now.”

Harry watched as she picked Blaise up, pulling him over one of her broad shoulders. Harry watched her approach the purple fire apprehensively. What if she hadn't drank a potion at all, but merely nettle wine? He might be about to watch his friends go up in smoke.

Millie hesitated only a fraction of a second before leaping through the purple flames. She seemed to pass through safely, and the flames didn't appear to catch on Blaise either.

“Go, Harry!” he heard her shout again, and then she was gone.

Harry gripped the bottle in his hands. He was scared. What if Millie was wrong about the riddle, and he was holding another bottle of poison in his hands? He could be stuck down there, seizing just like Blaise had, and no one would be there to rescue him. He ran to the table to check the riddle again, but he couldn't think straight. He couldn't remember where this bottle had been on the table before Millie handed it to him.

Harry took a deep breath and uncorked the bottle. He decided that he needed to be brave. He needed to trust in his friends.

After reminding himself that Millie had gone to get help, he took a drink of the potion.

It was like ice water running through his veins. Harry gasped, thinking for a moment that they had made a mistake after all, and this was the cold breath of death sweeping over him. But he didn't swoon. There was no dramatic seizing or foaming at the mouth. He appeared to be fine, although he was very cold. Harry braced himself and faced the black flames. He walked through them, watching the flames lick at his hands and robes, but not catch. It was over in an instant, and he was standing in the last chamber.

As expected, there was someone already there. But the figure before him was not dressed in Snape's familiar black robes. Instead, he wore a turban.

 


	13. The Man With Two Faces

“You!” Harry gasped before he could stop himself.

Quirrell had his back to him, but rather than flinching in surprise or fear, as expected of the nervous professor, he turned around calmly, a smile on his lips.

“Me,” he said, without a single quiver to his voice, “I wondered whether I'd be meeting you down here, Potter.”

This was perplexing. Had Quirrell suspected that Harry and his friends were trying to steal the stone this whole time? Perhaps he had been waiting to take Harry straight to Dumbledore to have him expelled...

Harry wasn't going down without a fight. His excuse was already on his lips, “Sir, I thought that Professor Snape...”

“Severus?” Quirrell laughed, “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? It was very convenient, having him around. Next to him who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

It was then that Harry understood he had made a very grave error. Quirrell wasn't here to stop someone from stealing the stone. He was here to steal it himself.

Harry didn't know what to say. From the looks of things, Quirrell hadn't gotten his hands on the stone just yet. But Harry had been prepared to face the potions master, not the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was certain that this new, confident Quirrell could cast many spells that would easily deflect the few hexes Harry had mastered.

As he stood there, trying to think of what to do next, Quirrell continued talking.

“At any rate, it is fortunate that you came to me tonight. It saves me quite a bit of trouble.”

He snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air, wrapping themselves tightly around Harry.

“You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school, loitering around the third floor... You might have spied me trying to get to the stone!”

“You're the one who let the troll in...” Harry said, as the events of the past year slowly began falling into place.

“Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls. You must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off. And who should follow him but you and your misguided friends? If I had been lucky that dog would have used its three heads to rip you all to pieces, but luck was not on my side that night. I had to be patient...”

“Please, Professor...” Harry pleaded, struggling against his magical restraints, “I promise I won't tell anyone that it was you. You can let me go.”

It was a desperate lie, and Quirrell saw right though it.

“Oh Potter,” he said with another sinister chuckle, “I'm not worried about exposure now. The world will know the height of my ambition soon enough. I have another reason for wanting to kill you. Now, wait quietly until that time comes. I need to examine this interesting mirror...”

It was only then that Harry noticed what stood behind Quirrell. It was a very large mirror surrounded by an ornate gold frame. It rested on two clawed feet, and from where Harry stood, he could just make out an engraving along the top.

“ _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ ,” Quirrell intoned, his hands raised to the mirror. He was reading the inscription as if it were some kind of invocation. He and Harry waited, but when nothing happened, Quirrell lowered his hands again.

“The mirror is the key to finding the stone,” Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame, “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... But he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back...”

Taking the stone for himself was out of the question now. The only thing on Harry's mind was keeping Quirrell distracted until Millie could come back with reinforcements. If Quirrell got the stone before then, Harry was certain the professor would make good on his promise to kill him. He had to keep Quirrell talking, and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

“I saw you and Snape the day of the Quidditch match,” he blurted, “You were arguing.”

“Yes,” said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to inspect the back. “He suspected me from the very beginning, and the troll incident on Halloween did not help. He wanted to know how much I knew and tried to frighten me. As if he could, when I have Lord Voldemort on my side...”

Harry felt as though he'd taken another drink of the icy potion. His blood congealed in his veins. Quirrell had just uttered the name of the man who murdered Harry's parents. It was a name he seldom heard spoken aloud, and certainly never in the casual tone used by Quirrell just now. If Harry had any doubts about Quirrell's intention to kill him, they were instantly dispelled.

“Lord Voldemort?” Harry said, sounding a bit louder than he had intended, “What do you mean by that?”

“You mean you hadn't guessed, Potter?” Quirrell said, sounding highly amused. “Did you really think that I wanted the stone for my own use?”

“I thought that Snape...” Harry began, but he was roughly interrupted by Quirrell.

“Snape had nothing to do with it!” Quirrell declared, “The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better!”

“But I heard you crying in an empty classroom. Was Snape threatening you then, too?”

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

“Sometimes I find it hard to follow my master's instructions... He is a great wizard and I am weak...”

“You mean he was there in the classroom with you?” Harry gasped, “ _Voldemort_? But that's impossible, isn't it? He's supposed to be dead!”

“He is with me wherever I go,” said Quirrell. Harry thought he sounded almost mournful. “I met him when I traveled around the world. I was a foolish young man, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it...”

Quirrell's voice trailed away as he became lost in his own recollections. Harry was beginning to think Quirrell was nothing more than a madman. After all, it was impossible for Lord Voldemort to have returned from the dead. No one had seen him since the night he killed Harry's parents, or so Harry had been told. Quirrell must have deluded himself into thinking he was serving Voldemort. But if Quirrell was insane that made his next move unpredictable, and therefore dangerous.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

“I see the stone... I'm presenting it to my master... But where it it?”

He was staring at his own reflection in the mirror, but of course it was only his reflection.

“I don't understand. Is the stone inside the mirror? Should I break it? How does it work? Master... Help me!”

And to Harry's horror, a strange voice answered him, a voice that seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

“ _Use him... Use the boy..._ ”

Quirrell rounded on Harry. He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell to his feet.

“Potter, come here,” he ordered. When Harry did not respond immediately to his demand, he clicked his tongue against his teeth in impatience and drew a wand from the sleeve of his robes. Wordlessly, he waved it at Harry, who was pulled across the ground by an invisible force, his toes scraping across the ground. He came to a stop by Quirrell's side, who wasted no time in pressing the tip of his wand against Harry's neck.

“Look into the mirror, and tell me what you see,” he said.

Harry did not know what to expect, but if this was truly some final test of Dumbledore's, Harry knew that no matter what he saw, he must lie. There was no way he could tell the truth if a good lie would keep him alive a bit longer. He thought of Millie and hoped desperately that she'd met a teacher on the way to the hospital wing. Or Peeves. Or anyone.

But his resolve vanished as soon as he saw his reflection in the mirror. He saw himself, but it was not Quirrell at his side. Instead, Harry saw a room full of people. He looked over his shoulder, ignoring the pressure of the wand at his neck. The room was empty. But when he looked back at the mirror, he still saw them, rows and rows of people. They were all smiling at him. Some where craning their necks to get a better look. He saw hands waving, and he had to resist the urge to wave back. Some of them looked familiar, though he knew he'd never seen any of these people before.

“What is it? What do you see?” Quirrell repeated, but Harry ignored him. He was staring intently at the people standing on either side of his reflection. The man looked just like him, only older and without the lightning scar. He wore round glasses, like Harry, and had the same unruly black hair. The woman's hair was a dark auburn. She was very pretty. When she smiled at him, he saw her green eyes shine, and he was shocked to see that they were the exact same shade as his own.

“Mom...?” he whispered, “Dad...?”

The smiles of the reflections grew wider, and he knew that he was right. He watched his mother's reflection reach out to grip the shoulder of his image, and he felt unbearably sad that he couldn't feel her touch.

As he continued to stare, Harry watched as his father drew something out of his pocket. He held it up for Harry to see. It was a glittering blood-red stone. Harry's father winked at him, and tucked the stone into the pocket of Harry's reflection. At the same time, Harry felt the weight of something fill the pocket on his robes. He didn't know how, but his father had just given him the Philosopher's Stone.

“What?” Quirrell asked, prodding him again with the wand, “What is it?”

“My parents...” Harry said truthfully, “I see my family...”

Quirrell cursed and pushed Harry out of the way. He continued to stare into the mirror, muttering to himself. Harry backed away from him, feeling the weight of the stone against his leg. He considered making a break for it while Quirrell was distracted, but he had only walked a few paces when the voice spoke again, and this time Harry was sure that it couldn't be Quirrell's.

_“He lies... He lies...!”_

“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouted, the anger in his voice stopping Harry in his tracks, “Tell me the truth! What did you see?”

“I told you the truth! I saw my parents!” Harry said, his heart pounding. Who's voice was that?

“Let me speak to him... face-to-face...” the voice hissed again.

Quirrell looked as frightened as Harry felt,

“Master, you are not strong enough...”

“Do you think me so weak?” hissed the voice, “No... I have strength enough for this...”  
Harry did not think Quirrell was mad anymore. He thought he knew whose voice that was, and his heart continued to beat madly against his ribs as Quirrell turned his back to him and began unraveling his turban. He still did not understand the horror he had in store until the turban fell away entirely, and Harry screamed.

Where there should have been only the back of Quirrell's head, there was instead a face. It was the most horrible face Harry had ever laid his eyes on. It was chalk white and had glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. In fact, Harry was sure there was nothing human-like about the face at all.

“Harry Potter...” it whispered in its strange, high-pitched voice.

Harry promptly threw up on the floor.

“That's disgusting!” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “Ugh, and it speaks. That is seriously the most revolting thing I have ever seen in my life!”

“Hold your tongue in front of the Dark Lord!” Quirrell demanded, half-turning toward Harry so that for a moment, he could see both faces on the same head. He felt like retching again.

“Silence, Quirrell...” Voldemort commanded, “Let me speak to him, myself...”

Quirrell turned away again, and Harry stood looking into the eyes of the man who had killed his parents. Or what was left of him, anyway.

“See what I have become?” the face said, “Mere shadow and vapor...”

“Oh I wouldn't say that,” Harry said, his fear making him reckless, “Shadows aren't this hideous.”

The face stared at Harry, its expression unreadable. Harry figured he'd offended Voldemort by interrupting him, so it couldn't hurt to offend further.

“Sorry,” he said, “But you are repulsive.”

To his surprise, Voldemort did not order Quirrell to kill him on the spot. Instead, he continued speaking, as if Harry hadn't said a word.

“I have form only when I share the body of another. But there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds...”

“Wait, there were others before Quirrell?” Harry asked, interrupting a second time. “What happened to _them_?”

“I was speaking metaphorically!” Voldemort snapped, “Quirrell has been different... He has served me faithfully, drinking the blood of unicorns to sustain me, strengthen me... But once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own...”

“How?” asked Harry.

“ _What_?”

“How are you going to create a body with the elixir?”

“The Philosopher's Stone is capable of magic far beyond your understanding, Potter.”

“Maybe so, but I met Flamel. You know, the guy who _made_ _it_? And he never said anything about it making human bodies. It just grants eternal life, if you've got a body to drink it, that is. So maybe Quirrell would live forever, but I don't really know what would happen to you...”  
“Silence!” Voldemort seethed, “I've had enough of your backtalk! Now... why don't you give me that stone in your pocket?”

Harry didn't know how he knew, but he did. Harry stumbled backward, prepared to flee.

“Don't be a fool,” snarled the face, “Better to save your own life and join me, or you'll meet the same fate as your parents. They died begging me for mercy...”

“Yeah, mentioning my parents – who you murdered – isn't really selling the whole 'join me' angle,” Harry said bitterly. He no longer felt fear. The Voldemort he saw before him was too pathetic to be feared. But Harry could feel disgust, and he could feel anger.

Quirrell began walking backward toward Harry, so that Voldemort drew closer and closer. The evil face was now smiling.

“How sentimental...” he sneered, “Defending the parents you never knew. I always value bravery... Yes, your parents were brave, too. And what happened to them? I killed your father first. He tried to fight me. But your mother needn't have died. She was trying to protect you... Now give me the stone, unless you want her to have died in vain...”

Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the curious mirror behind Voldemort's evil face. He could still see the reflections of his family, his mother and father more clearly visible than his other lost relatives. His mother was looking at him, her face full of longing and love.

“I'll never join you!” Harry said. His parents looked on proudly. Harry spared only a moment more to memorize their faces, then he sprang toward the exit, still blocked by the black flames.

“Seize him!” screamed Voldemort, and the next second Harry felt Quirrell's hand close on his wrist.

At once, needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar. It felt as though his head were going to split in two. He screamed, struggling against Quirrell with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let him go. The pain subsided, and he looked at Quirrell in wild confusion. He was hunched on the ground, apparently in terrible pain. Harry watched in shock as Quirrell lifted his fingers, which were blistering before his eyes.

“I said seize him! Seize him!” shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry to the ground and landing on top of him. He clutched Harry's neck with both hands, strangling him, but Harry's scar hurt far worse. It was blinding him with pain, yet he could hear Quirrell howling in agony.

“I cannot hold him!” he wailed, “My hands! My hands!”

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms. They were burned raw, red, and shiny.

“Kill him!” Voldemort screamed.

Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face.

Another flash of pain tore through his scar, but it was nothing compared to the torment Quirrell experienced, judging by his scream. He rolled off Harry, his face blistering as badly as his hands, the marks the exact size and shape of Harry's fingers. Then Harry knew for certain. For some reason, Quirrell could not touch his bare skin. His only chance at survival was to keep hold of Quirrell, at least until someone showed up to rescue him.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off, and the burning in Harry's head was almost unbearable, but still he held on. He couldn't see anything, only hear the sounds of Quirrell's screams and Voldemort's cries of “Kill him! Kill him!”

Suddenly, another voice broke through the chaos, calling his name.

“Potter! _Potter_!”

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, but he was already at the end of his strength. He tried to open his eyes one last time, but it was no use. All was blackness.

* * *

 

His eyes were open, so that must mean he wasn't dead. But where was he?

Harry rolled his head to the left and could barely make out the blurry figure of a table next to him. He groped in semi-blindness and found his glasses, exactly where they would have been if he had placed them on his own nightstand. For a moment, Harry considered the possibility that it had all been a very bad dream, and that he was back in his own dormitory. But reality came back to him swiftly once his glasses were in place. He could see Blaise in a bed next to him, fast asleep under a blanket of white linen. Harry was lying in an identical bed. He realized this must be the hospital wing.

He stared at Blase for several long minutes, taking comfort in the sight of his chest rising and falling with calm breath. Then he rolled his head lazily to the right, and found himself staring at Professor Snape.

Snape was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair facing Harry's bed, and he was watching Harry with his usual expression of dislike. They might as well have been in potions class, with Snape critically eyeing some brew Harry had concocted.

“... Professor Snape?” Harry said, revisiting the notion that he might be dreaming.

“Potter,” said Snape, his lip curling slightly in an unmistakable sign of contempt.

“... I'm in the hospital wing...”

“Yes, Potter. Well done. If only you could be this observant in my class, perhaps you wouldn't be such an unbearable disappointment.”

“I mean, I'm not dead.”

Snape hesitated, though he showed no signs of softening his callous demeanor. Harry was oddly comforted by Snape's familiar antipathy for him. It made things seem normal, more easy to cope with.

“No. You aren't dead,” Snape said simply.

“But how did I get here? Where is Quirrell? Did he take the stone?”

“Quirrell is gone,” Snape said flatly. “The stone is safe.”

Harry took a few moments to process this information. He still was so tired. His brain felt like oatmeal mush. Snape did not hurry him. He continued to sit in silence by Harry's bedside, though now, rather than stare at Harry, he seemed to prefer to look anywhere else.

“How long have I been here?” Harry asked after what seemed like an age.

“Three days.”

“Three days?” Harry said, astounded at how much time had passed. He was suddenly seized with worry for Blaise. He looked at his friend again to assured himself that Blaise was in fact still breathing, then he returned his gaze to Snape.

His concern must have been evident on his face, because Snape answered his question without needing to be asked.

“He woke two days ago. He's only sleeping now. I imagine he is still recovering from the effects of my potion. He's very lucky. The poison was designed to be lethal if not treated within fifteen minutes of its consumption. Miss Bulstrode must have been very fast.”

Harry made a mental note to give Millie an especially strong hug when he next saw her, whether she liked it or not.

“I still don't understand. Where has Quirrell gone to? And how did I end up here?”

“I suspected someone would attempt to steal the stone when I heard of Dumbledore's absence. I was already on my way to the chamber when I met Miss Bulstrode on her way to the hospital wing. She told me I would find you there.”

“Wait... You mean that _you_ saved me?”

“Yes, Potter, I saved you,” Snape said tersely, seeming angry with himself at the reminder, “You seemed to be handling Quirrell just fine on your own, but then you passed out just as I arrived.”

“But... I thought you hated me.”

“I _do_ hate you.”

Harry appreciated his honesty, but he was more confused than ever, “So then why did you save me?”

Snape apparently had no ready answer to this question. He glanced at Harry for the first time in several minutes. Harry caught his gaze and held it, forcing Snape to look away first.

“You would be more trouble dead than you are alive, Potter,” he said, “I've already got Edana Zabini breathing down my neck on account of her son. Do you really think I wanted to deal with the consequences of letting _Famous Harry Potter_ die when I could prevent it?”

His words did not have the same ring of cruel truth to them as they usually did. He felt that Snape was hiding something from him, but he decided not to press the issue further. He was certain that this was the longest conversation he'd ever had with the Potions Master, and he didn't want to push his luck. Compared to their other encounters, Snape was being downright pleasant.

“Thank you for saving me,” Harry said. It really was enjoyable to watch the look of quiet self-loathing on Snape's face. He looked as if he'd just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. He probably would have retorted with another cutting remark, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Albus Dumbledore.

“Severus! I asked you to fetch me as soon as he awoke!” Dumbledore chided in a friendly tone.

Snape stood immediately from his chair, obviously eager to leave as soon as possible.

“Forgive me, Headmaster. Potter had a number of impertinent questions, as usual. But I'm sure they were not all wasted on me.”

“Is that so, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, peering at Harry through his half-moon glasses. “Have you woken from your long slumber only to give me a pop quiz?”

“Actually, I would like to talk with you,” Harry said, then added quickly, “If that's OK, sir?”

“Of course, Harry. After all, the whole school has already heard of your adventures. It's only fair that you hear of them as well.”

Snape gave Dumbledore a small bow and swept from the room without another word. Dumbledore then motioned to the table placed on the other side of Harry's bed, where a heretofore unnoticed pile of sweets had been assembled.

“Tokens from your admirers, Harry. You see, I was not joking when I said word of your adventures had spread throughout the school.”

Harry blinked at the massive pile in some surprise, but he was not concerned about candy at the moment.

“Sir, I want to talk to you about the Philosopher's Stone.”

Dumbledore laughed, “You have a one-track mind, Harry!”

“Well... You aren't wrong. Snape said...”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected.

“... Professor Snape told me that Quirrell is gone.”

“Ah, yes. Quirinus Quirrell is in fact _gone_. Once Voldemort left his body, the strain was too great for him to withstand. He had already suffered through so much.”

Harry was shocked, “You mean he's _dead_?”

“Yes, I am afraid so. You mustn't blame yourself, Harry.”

“Oh, I don't,” Harry said promptly, “I blame Voldemort... I mean, _you-know-who._ ”

“I would think, after facing him yourself, that you would be past these little superstitions. You may call him Voldemort if you wish, Harry. After all, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”

Harry considered this carefully. He head was still a little fuzzy. Eventually, he decided he could see the logic in Dumbledore's words, and he nodded.

“Voldemort was on the back of Quirrell's head,” he stated.

“Ah. That must have been quite terrifying.”

“It was _gross_.”

Dumbledore smiled at him.

“What about the stone?” Harry asked, “Is it safe?”

“As to that, the stone has been destroyed.”

Harry stared at him, open-mouthed. His first thought was that somehow, in the scuffle between himself and Quirrell, the stone had fallen, shattered into a million pieces. He broke a precious artifact.

Harry suddenly thought of Nicolas Flamel and his pretty, smiling wife. He felt unbearably guilty.

“But... Without the stone... Flamel... Won't he die?”

“Nicolas and I had a long chat, and we decided it was for the best. He and Perenelle have enough elixir saved up to set their affairs in order. And then, yes. They will die.”

Harry bowed his head. Flamel had warned him not to seek the stone, but Harry had ignored him. He had plotted all year to steal the stone himself. Dumbledore and everyone in the school must be thinking he was some sort of hero for defeating Quirrell and Voldemort, but in reality, Harry felt less like The Boy Who Lived, and more like The Boy Who Killed Someone.

“Harry... Do not blame yourself,” Dumbledore said again, only this time his words were needed. “Nicolas and Perenelle have lived a very, very long time.”

“But I broke it. I broke it and now they have to die!”

Dumbledore laughed again, and Harry looked at him in amazement. How could Dumbledore laugh at the deaths of two people whom he called friends?

“Harry! You did not break the stone! Nicolas destroyed it after our talk together. Besides, he created it in the first place. Don't you think he could make another if he wished?”

Harry felt very silly for being so distraught, but he was also terribly glad that Dumbledore was here to explain this to him. His cheerful laughter was preferable to Snape's jeers. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Or near silence, as Dumbledore began humming a strange tune quietly to himself. He seemed to be giving Harry time to process, but the fact that he was waiting told Harry that he expected more questions, and what was more, he was prepared to answer them.

“Sir, I've been thinking,” said Harry after awhile, “It's about Voldemort. With the stone gone, he can't come back, can he?”

“Ah, that is the question, isn't it Harry? I am afraid there are other ways for him to return. Other bodies to share... Other people to bind to his will... So long is he is not truly alive he cannot be killed. I believe that so long as some piece of him survives, there will always be a chance of his return.”

“Did you know? I mean that he wasn't really dead all this time?”

“I had my suspicions, Harry. They never found Voldemort's body the night your parents were killed. But suspicion is all I had, until three nights ago, when Snape found you in that chamber and pulled Quirrell off of you himself.”

“About that, sir. Why did Snape help me?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise, “You mean he didn't tell you?”

“Well... He said it was his duty as a teacher, I guess. But I got the feeling he wasn't telling me everything.”

“Hm... Well then, it is not my story to tell. Perhaps Professor Snape will tell you himself, one day. In his own time. At any rate, he had very little to do. You were doing just fine on your own, from what I've heard.”

Harry remembered the struggle with Quirrell, and the way his hands had caused him to burn.

“Why couldn't he touch me, sir?”

“That would be because of your mother. She died to save you, Harry. And love... The love a mother has for her child... It is the most powerful magic there is. Voldemort never understood that, and so he could not protect himself from that magic. Love leaves a mark, Harry. Not a scar, but one that marks us long after our loved ones have gone. Her love continues to protect you to this day, and so Quirrell, full of avarice and tainted by Voldemort's hatred, could not touch you without agony.”

“Voldemort said she didn't need to die,” Harry said, remembering the conversation he had with the evil face, “He said she was just trying to protect me... Professor, why would he want to kill me? I was just a baby...”

“Alas, Harry, that is one question I cannot answer now,” Dumbledore said, rising from his seat, “I think it would be best for you to get some sleep now.”

Harry was going to argue. He felt there was still so much he did not understand, and besides, he had been sleeping for three days. But then, he did feel very tired. Perhaps all of this new information had worn him out emotionally. He nodded his head and allowed himself to sink back against his pillows, hardly realizing he'd been propping himself up. Dumbledore began to make his way toward the door when Harry stopped him.

“Professor! One last question,” he said.

Dumbledore turned around, a curious smile on his face.

“The invisibility cloak. Were you the one who gave it to me?”

“Oh yes! Your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you would like to have it. Useful thing. I believe your father used it mainly to steal food from the kitchen...”

Harry smiled, wondering why his father would need to steal food when there was so much to be had at meal times. He thought of the man he'd seen reflected in the mirror, and wished to know more about him. Then he thought of something else.

“Professor!” he called out again, pushing himself into a seated position perhaps a little unwisely. It made him dizzy.

“The mirror!” he said, ignoring Dumbledore's entreaties to lay back down, “I saw them in it! Both of my parents! It was my dad, he gave me the stone! How? How did it work?”

Dumbledore had returned to Harry's side and was looking at him with a mixture of pride and pity.

“That was the Mirror of Erised, Harry. It shows us our deepest desires. In your case, I suppose it must have shown you the family you've always wanted. But it was also designed to give the viewer access to the stone, but only if they did not want to use it for their own gains.”

Harry thought back to that moment. It was true he had plotted to steal the stone all year, but he never thought of using it himself. He had gold enough already, and he had no interest in living forever. Though when he thought about his parents, he felt that he wouldn't mind having a way to bring people back from the dead.

Perhaps Harry would have shared this thought with Dumbledore, had not Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, not swept down upon him, blaming the headmaster for Harry's state of agitation and banishing him from the hospital wing, but not before Dumbledore could steal one of Harry's chocolate frogs with a wink.

* * *

 

Harry dreamed that he was in the chamber again. Quirrell was unwrapping his turban, but when he turned away, it was not Voldemort's white face he saw, but the face of a large, ugly snake. It hissed his name...

When Harry awoke, he could still hear it hissing. Only it wasn't a snake at all. Blaise was whispering intently from his own bed.

“Harry! Are you still sleeping?”

“Not anymore,” Harry said grumpily, blaming Blaise for his bad dream, but pleased that he had woken him.

He rolled to his side so he could peer at Blaise over the edge of his pillow. Blaise had rolled over in a similar fashion, and was looking at Harry in amazement.

“I heard you and Dumbledore talking,” he said. It was dark in the hospital wing. Harry figured he must have dozed off, and it was now night.

“You were awake?” asked Harry.

“Yeah. I didn't want to interrupt.”

“You were eavesdropping,” Harry said, grinning.

Blaise grinned back, “Yes. But just a little.”

“How much is a little?”

“I heard everything.”

Harry laughed, but Blaise shushed him with dire warnings of what would happen if they woke Madam Pomfrey. He had been awake more often than not while Harry slept, and was more acquainted with the nurse's strict habits.

“Is it all true?” Blaise asked, “Did you really see Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, shuddering at the memory. He pulled his blanket closer around him.

“Blimey...” Blaise breathed, staring at Harry in awe. It made Harry slightly uncomfortable.

“And Flamel?” he asked next, “He's really going to die?”

“Dumbledore said he could make another stone if he wanted. Maybe he's just decided he's ready to die.”

They said nothing to each other for awhile after that; each eleven-year-old lost in a private contemplation of death, both puzzled in his own way why someone would welcome it gladly. They were quiet for so long that Harry thought Blaise might have drifted off to sleep, until he spoke again.

“Millie came by a few times. She's bound to come again when she hears you're up.”

“Good,” Harry said, “I'm going to hug her.”

“What for? She saved me, not you. If anyone should hug her, it's me.”

“Then you do it.”

“No! She'd probably punch my lights out, and I'd be here for another week!”

They began laughing again, only this time they really did wake Madame Pomfrey. They were scolded, and warned to get some sleep midst threats of being treated to a sleeping draught.

She was even more outraged the next morning, when Harry jumped out of bed to make good on his promise to give Millie a great bear hug. To his surprise, she hugged him back. Grinning, she plopped onto the end of Blaise's bed, grabbed some of the candy from Harry's bedside, and began eating happily while Madame Pomfrey forced Harry to lie back down. With a wave of her wand, Harry was tucked in so tightly he thought he'd never be free of his bed again.

“I've brought someone!” Millie said cheerfully.

Harry, still able to turn his head, glanced toward the doorway and saw Hagrid's large body waiting hesitantly in the doorway, as if uncertain he was welcome there.

“Hagrid!” Harry and Blaise both shouted joyfully, earning a few scowls from Madame Pomfrey.

“Don't be afraid of her, Hagrid!” Blaise said, “You can come in!”

Hagrid tottered into the room, took a seat that seemed far too small to support his weight, looked at Harry, and burst into tears.

“It's all my ruddy fault!” he wailed, his face in his hands, “I told that evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn' know, an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a muggle!”

“Hagrid!” said Harry, startled by this touching burst of emotion, “He'd have found out anyway! This is _Voldemort_ we're talking about!”

“Yeh could've died! And don't say the name!”

“I'll say it if I want. _Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort_!” Harry shouted, and Hagrid was so shocked he stopped crying.

Harry smiled at him, “See? Nothing the matter with saying _Voldemort_. I've met him, and let me tell you, he's more sickening than scary. Anyway, why don't you do as Millie does and have a chocolate frog? I've got loads from people I don't think I've ever even talked to...”

Hagrid wiped his nose and said, “That reminds me. I've got yeh a present.”

“No fair! Where's my present?” Blaise complained.

Hagrid reached into his coat pocket and tossed a roughly wrapped present to Blaise. It was a pile of his infamous rock cakes. Harry smiled at Blaise's attempts to be thankful, then he stared down at the gift Hagrid placed in his lap.

It was a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously, wondering what sort of book Hagrid thought would interest him. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

“Sent owls off ter all yer parent's old school friends, askin' fer photos... Knew yeh didn't have any... d'yeh like it?”

Harry couldn't speak, so he got up from his bed to give Hagrid a hug, hoping he understood how much the gift meant to him.

* * *

 

He made his way down to the end-of-year feast with Blaise and Millie. They had been held up by Madame Pomfrey's last-minute checkups, so the Great Hall was already full with the rest of the school. When they entered, it was to see the hall decked out in silver and green. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

“Well, I guess Slytherin won for the seventh year in a row,” Blaise commented. “Guess they did OK without us for a few days, eh Harry?”

Several students turned to stare when Blaise said Harry's name. They caught the attention of their neighbors, so that they stopped to stare, as well, and a sudden hush fell over the hall. Then everyone stared talking at once.

Blaise waved to them as they made their way to the Slytherin table, saying things like “Yes, hello! I've missed you all, too. It's good to be back.”

“I don't think they're staring at you, Blaise,” Millie said dryly.

“Who else would they be looking at? You? Don't be so vain, Millie.”

Millie rolled her eyes and Harry laughed, and they slipped into seats at the table with the rest of their house.

Dumbledore arrived moments later, and began his speech for the end-of-year banquet.

“Another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were... You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry and his friends were among those cheering the loudest.

“Yes, well done Slytherin,” said Dumbledore, “However, it has recently come to my attention that a certain teacher has erroneously removed points from a certain house, falsely believing a particular student belonged to said house, and removing points accordingly.”

Harry groaned, dreading the next words to come out of Dumbledore's mouth.

“Therefore I feel it only appropriate to restore some of the points there were mistakenly taken from Gryffindor house. I'm sure Mr. Potter, of Slytherin, will not begrudge me an opportunity to right a wrong committed in his name, when I award Gryffindor the one hundred and seventy points I would have awarded to him for his stunning display of bravery only a week ago.”

A stunned silence filled the room, followed by the gasps of students who were good at doing math in their heads. Realization dawned on Slytherin house last, as their groans were drowned out by the deafening roars of the other houses. Dumbledore had just awarded Gryffindor enough points to win the house cup.

“There's no way Snape took enough points away from Gryffindor on account of me to make that fair!” Harry argued even as the banners were transformed from silver and green to red and gold.

Harry caught Snape's eye and knew that his feelings toward Harry had soured even more on account of this upset. Harry returned his look with one of equal dislike. It was Snape's fault this had happened, not his.

* * *

 

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To his surprise, he passed with very good marks. Naturally, Blaise got the highest marks on his Charms exam. Even Millie scraped through with excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts scores and a passable grade in Potions. They had hoped that Crabbe or Goyle would be thrown out, but they somehow managed to pass, too.

“Cheated, probably,” was Blaise's opinion.

And then, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, and notes were passed out to all the students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays. Hagrid was there to see them off, and they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, talking and sharing Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns. Harry swapped his school robes for jeans and a jacket, and in no time at all they were pulling in to platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

“You have to come and stay this summer,” said Blaise, “Millie too. It's OK, isn't it, mum?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Zabini, hugging Harry as well as her son. She had the sense not to try it with Millie, though they did shake hands. “I'd be delighted to have any friends of Blaise stay with us.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, “I'll need something to look forward to.”

Mrs. Zabini was looking at Harry curiously, and seemed prepared to say something more, but people kept jostling past them on the platform. Many of them, all Slytherin students, called out to Harry as they passed.

“See you later, Potter!”

“Have a good summer, Harry!”

Even Draco Malfoy muttered something has he hurried toward his parents. He was careful to nudge Harry with his trunk to that he wouldn't miss his whispered, “ _Potter..._ ”

“ _Malloy_ ,” Harry said, knowing it would bother Draco all summer if he got his name wrong.

Harry passed through the gateway with Blaise and his mother. Millie had already moved off to join her own parents. Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced and mustachioed, was looking furious as usual at the sight of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. He wasn't surprised to see Vernon give Mrs. Zabini a double take. His Aunt Petunia was standing behind him with Dudley, and she eyed Mrs. Zabini with a look of envy.

“Ready, are you?” Uncle Vernon said, recovering himself.

“You must be Harry's family,” said Mrs. Zabini breezily.

Vernon was caught off guard. He hadn't realized that Mrs. Zabini was walking with Harry.

“In a manner of speaking,” he mumbled, then, “Hurry up boy, we haven't got all day.”

He walked away, leaving Mrs. Zabini in shocked silence. Harry shrugged, expecting no better from his Uncle Vernon or any of the Dursleys.

“Well, that's my ride. I hope you have a good holiday.”

“Sure Harry, and don't forget to write,” said Blaise.

“Harry, I do think it's best if you come to visit us this summer,” Mrs. Zabini said quietly, giving the Dursleys a critical look.

“Oh don't mind them,” Harry said, “They're always like that. Anyway, they don't know I'm not allowed to do magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was a long chapter! And so concludes Harry's first year at Hogwarts. But fear not! This story will continue in Year 2, or “the year Harry discovers a giant killer snake living in the school sewer.” I'll be taking a brief hiatus in order to use NaNoWriMo to bust out the first draft of the second year. I hope to start uploading new chapters after January 1st! Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on the story thus far. I hope to see you all again in the next installment! Until then, happy reading. - jinxauthor


	14. The Worst Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! As promised, I have returned to add new chapters detailing Harry's adventures in Second Year. I tried to keep everyone's comments and suggestions in mind as I worked on the draft, and hope you'll all see some improvement in the storytelling. I didn't quite manage to finish the first draft during my hiatus, but I do have plenty of new chapters to start uploading as I continue to work out the end of the story. So bear with me! It is a work in progress! (I have also tried very hard to avoid any spelling/grammatical errors, but as I've read over the same passages countless times, it's easy for me to overlook a few things.) Happy Reading!

Harry Potter, of sound mind and body, was certain that there were a pair of eyes staring at him from the shrub.

A first, he thought it had to be a mirage. He'd been sitting in the garden under the hot summer sun for a while now, trying to avoid his Aunt Petunia as she savagely scoured the house for any dust motes before the arrival of Uncle Vernon's guests. There wasn't much to do in the garden, and he was starting to feel thirsty and hungry, but it was preferable to sit outdoors than face the Dursleys.

Harry stared at the eyes, imagining them to be nothing more than a trick of the light. But as he stared, they didn't shimmer out of sight the way a mirage should. They were certainly holding his gaze.

They were too large to be the eyes of a cat, and the shrub was far too small to admit a human hiding in its depths. Harry's next thought was of Torsh, the busy little house elf with large, bulbous eyes he'd met last Christmas while visiting Blaise's house.

He stood up, seized with sudden hope. He hadn't heard from Blaise all summer, in spite of his promises to write. Perhaps he was feeling jilted, as Harry hadn't been able to write to him, either. Uncle Vernon had locked Hedwig in her cage the second Harry returned from school. Could it be possible that Blaise, having received no letters from Harry, sent his house elf to check up on him?

“Torsh?” Harry asked tentatively, taking a cautious step toward the eyes in the shrub.

The eyes blinked out of existence, but Harry was sure they had really been there. He hadn't imagined them. He was about to take another step toward the shrub, when a voice arrested his progress.

“What's a _torsh_?”

It was Dudley, Harry's cruel and massive cousin. He stood on the back stoop of the house, the expression on his face a mixture of sarcasm and curiosity. 

Harry rolled his eyes at him and said, “It's a new spell I'm developing. I've just about managed to turn this shrub into cotton candy.”

Harry thought the sound of some fluffy, sweet candy sounded wonderful at the moment, but Dudley's eyes grew in horror.

“You're not supposed to do that!” he whined, “Mum says you're not to do any of _that_ here! I'll tell if you do anything weird!”

Harry smirked at him. It hadn't escaped his notice that Dudley carefully avoided saying the words “spell” or “magic” around Harry.

“What do you want, Dudley?” asked Harry, ignoring his cousin's threat to run to Petunia.

Dudley appeared confused for a moment, as if his sudden fear had blasted away whatever intention had brought him to the garden. Harry hoped that he'd wander back indoors and forget whatever bullying plans he had in store, but Dudley appeared to recall himself, and drew his great, flabby chest up proudly.

“I know what day it is,” he announced with utmost smugness.

“It's Friday, Dudley,” Harry said in a bored voice, “It's not like it's a secret. Not everyone is as slow to learn the days of the week as you.”

“No, not that,” Dudley said, an irritated lilt to his voice, “It's your birthday.”

“I'm touched that you remembered, cousin,” Harry said with mock tenderness.

“Seems I'm the only one that did,” Dudley fired back. Harry sensed that he was getting nearer to his point as his corpulent body swelled even greater, nearly filling the door frame he guarded. “You haven't gotten anything from _them_ , have you?”

“From who?” Harry asked, though he was already bracing himself for Dudley's answer.

“From those freak friends at your freak school,” Dudley clarified, “You must really be pathetic. No friends at your old school, and now you haven't any friends among your own kind.”

Harry could have pointed out that the only reason he didn't have friends at his muggle school had been because Dudley and his gang beat up anyone who ever dared get close to Harry. Instead, he merely stated, “I have friends.”

“Then they must have forgotten you already. Not very memorable, are you?”

“How do you know they haven't been speaking to me?” Harry asked quietly.

Dudley gave him a confused look. “What do you mean? There haven't been any owls or anything this year.”

Harry uttered a forced, deranged sort of cackle, purposely trying to put Dudley on edge.

“Do you think that owls are the only way wizards communicate? How do you know I'm not casting my aura out of my body and flying to my friend's houses at night? Or talking with them through the mirrors in the bathroom? How do you know they're not watching you while you sleep, scrying through a stone basin of glacier water?”

Harry had no idea where he was getting this nonsense from, but Dudley was clearly shaken.

“Y-You're lying,” he stammered.

Harry took a slow, menacing step toward him, “Why shouldn't they spy on you, Dudders? I've told them so much about you. They're curious to see the fat muggle boy who lives with the next great dark wizard of our time. If I were you, I'd cover the mirror in your bedroom.”

Harry made a sudden lunge toward his cousin. He was much smaller than Dudley, and wouldn't have been able to do him any harm whatsoever, but Dudley was so spooked he squealed like the pink pig he resembled, and bolted indoors, screaming for his mother.

Harry knew he was going to pay for that outburst sooner rather than later, but he'd lost his patience with his cousin. Dudley, however thick he appeared, had managed to hit on the one thing that had been weighing on Harry's mind since summer began. What had happened to Blaise and Millie? He'd received no letters, no parcels, not even a post card. Could they really have forgotten him? Or had they only been his friend because of his fame, and quickly lost interest when they realized how normal he truly was?

Harry had chided himself for thinking this way, and he always managed to think of some plausible excuse for why his friends hadn't written to him yet. But as the days turned to weeks, Harry had begun to feel desperate for some news of the wizarding world. Even a sneeringly worded letter from Draco Malfoy would be welcome at this point. Harry would even consider an offer to visit his home if it meant escaping his mundane life with the Dursleys and getting a taste of the magical world again.

The shrill screech of his Aunt Petunia interrupted his musing. He was being called indoors to “make himself useful” and help prepare a dinner he wasn't going to get a morsel of. After helping his aunt by sweeping and scrubbing the floors, washing the dishes, and heading back into the garden to spread manure in the flowerbeds, Harry was given only two slices of bread and a chunk of rank smelling cheese. He was too tired and hungry at this point to complain, and the food was quickly bolted down.

His aunt was already dressed in a hideous salmon-colored cocktail dress, while Dudley and Veron adjusted their dinner jackets in the front room. Harry slunk by them silently, dragging his feet to his room for a night of pretending he didn't exist while his relatives schmoozed with Vernon's wealthy potential clients.

He had just shut his door and turned to his bed, ready to flop down in complete exhaustion and misery, when he stopped. There was someone already sitting on the bed.

Harry recognized the large, round green eyes instantly. They were the same eyes staring at him from the garden shrub. He was elated to see that he'd been right in assuming they belonged to a house-elf, but the little creature before him certainly wasn't Torsh. True, they had the same large ears, the same long, pointed nose, and green eyes, but here the similarities ended. The creature in front of him had eyes of a darker shade than Torsh, and the pillowcase it wore for a covering was shabby and dirty, where Torsh was always dressed neatly, although a bit eccentrically.

“Harry Potter!” The little creature squeaked, jumping up from its seat and staring at Harry in awe. Harry was given the distinct impression that this elf was male, though he couldn't be sure what gave him that impression. With Torsh, gender had always been a mystery.

“Er, yes that's me,” Harry said lamely, “And you are?”

“Dobby, Mr. Potter, sir. My name is Dobby.”

“How do you do, Dobby?” Harry asked. He was still confused, wondering who could have sent their elf to him if it wasn't Blaise and his mother, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be polite, “Won't you sit down?”

He motioned to the bed where the little creature had already been sitting prior to his arrival, but to his shock and dismay the elf immediately burst into tears. Harry immediately thought of his uncle, and the treats he'd made against Harry all day if he ruined this job opportunity for him. He tried to console the poor creature, saying hastily.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you!”

“Offend Dobby? Oh no, Harry Potter is too kind to a poor elf. Dobby was merely overcome with emotion... to be treated so well by a wizard of Harry Potter's stature... like an equal.”

“You can't have met very many nice wizards, then,” Harry stated.

Dobby shook his head sadly, then his eyes grew wide with fear. Harry was horrified as the elf sidled to Harry's window and began bashing his head against the windowsill, screaming at himself as he did so.

“Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry could hear the muffled voices of his family and their guests falter downstairs, and he quickly moved to restrain the insane elf, pulling him back from the window.

“Stop!” he cried in a harsh whisper, “What are you doing?”

“Dobby must punish himself, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby insinuated something against his masters, and it was wrong of Dobby. If they was to find out...”

“Won't they know if they see you've hurt yourself?” Harry asked, trying to think of some way to reason with the creature who struggled weakly in his grasp, as if desperate to go back to his bizarre punishment.

“Oh no, Dobby is always having to punish himself for some reason or another,” explained the elf, “Sometimes Dobby's masters suggests punishments.”

“I see,” Harry said, allowing his grip on the elf to slacken once he realized he no longer intended to make a loud noise. Harry felt bad for the elf. Whoever his masters were, they were clearly the worst sort of wizard. Blaise and Mrs. Zabini would never treat Torsh that way.

Thinking about Blaise was painful, but it did recall a question to Harry's mind.

“Did your masters send you here?” Harry asked, wondering if the elf would tell him where he came from.

Dobby's already large eyes became wider, and he shook his head slowly.

Harry tried to think of a polite way to ask the question on his mind. Dobby seemed like a very sensitive creature, and he felt that one false word would send him spiraling into another fit of self-harm, or possibly a shower of grateful tears. Harry decided it was best to ask directly.

“Then what brings you here, Dobby?”

“Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter,” said the house elf, his voice tremulous with the import of his next words, “Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts.”

Harry gaped at him, then he couldn't suppress his laughter.

“Not return to Hogwarts!” He repeated after stifling his own giggles with his hand, “Who put you up to this? Was it Millie?”

The house elf appeared alarmed at this sudden outburst, “Dobby does not know any Millies, sir.”

“Then who? Crabbe and Goyle are too thick to think of a prank like this, and surely not even Malfoy...”

Harry saw the elf flinch and heard a whimper of fear that he tried to suppress. It was a dead giveaway.

“ _Draco_?” Harry asked, realizing even as he said it that it made perfect sense. If any wizard family were to abuse their house elf, it would be the Malfoys. “It was _Draco_ that sent you here?”

Dobby's bony hands flew to his own mouth, clamping it shut. He whipped his head fiercely from side to side. Harry got a feeling that he wasn't aloud to tell lies to a wizard, but at the same time, he had probably been ordered not to tell secrets about the family he served.

Harry could feel his amusement rolling into anger. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose his temper and his shouts would draw the attention of the Dursleys.

Clutching his hands into fists, he ground his teeth and muttered, “Well, you can go tell your _master_ that I'll definitely be on the Hogwarts train come September first, and when I see him...”

“Harry Potter must not return!” Dobby suddenly exclaimed, the cry bursting from his mouth and surprising Harry enough that he jumped back in alarm. “There is a dark plot... Hogwarts will not be safe for anyone!”

“I'm not scared,” said Harry, “Draco can make up whatever story he wants. I'm going back to Hogwarts. It's my _home_ , Dobby. My friends are there...”

“Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?” the house elf stated slyly.

Harry gave a start of surprise, then he glared at the elf in suspicion.

“How do you know my friends haven't written to me?” he asked darkly.

The elf must have seen the malice in his expression, because he took a few steps back.

“Harry Potter must not be angry with Dobby... Dobby did it for Harry Potter's own good...”

“You've been stealing my letters!” Harry gasped, appalled that Draco would take his prank this far.

“Dobby thought that if Harry Potter believed his friends had forgotten him, he would not want to return!”

“That's ridiculous! What have you done with my letters! Give them to me now!”

“Dobby has them here, sir!” Dobby said, meekly pulling a neat stack of letters from under his shabby pillowcase, tied with a bit of twine. “Dobby will gladly return them if Harry Potter promises not to return to Hogwarts.”

“I promise,” Harry said instantly.

Dobby seemed amazed that his plan worked so well. Harry took advantage of his moment bwewilderment to snatch the stack from Dobby's outstreatched hands. He then flopped onto his bed, eagerly tearing away the twine and ripping into the letter at the top of the stack, written in Hagrid's untidy scrawl.

“Dobby is very relieved, sir,” Dobby said as Harry perused his letters, drinking in every word on the page, “Harry Potter will be much safer here with his family than at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I'm definitely not staying here,” Harry said in a matter of fact tone, “Safe with the Dursleys? You must be joking.”

Dobby's lower lip quivered, “But Harry Potter said...”

“I lied Dobby,” Harry replied easily. He looked up and saw the little elf's eyes filling with tears. He felt a little guilty for tricking the elf, who was obviously just following Draco Malfoy's stupid orders. But at the same time, he was angry for having been robbed of his letters for so long. Letting him waste the whole summer feeling like he'd been abandoned, and that Hogwarts had been nothing more than a fantastic dream, was more cruel than a little white lie to a house elf.

Harry used what anger he had to force out his next words. “That's right. The great and awesome Harry Potter lied. Not unlike how you lied by allowing me to think my friends forgot me.”

“Dobby was only trying to help!”

“Well you can tell Draco that I don't need his help.”

Dobby dashed the tears from his eyes and drew himself up to his full height, which was not very substantial.

“Harry Potter is only saying this because Harry Potter still does not understand,” Dobby declared, “Harry Potter will only be putting himself in danger at Hogwarts! If Harry Potter does not promise to stay away, Harry Potter leaves Dobby with no choice!”

Harry ignored him. He'd already blasted through one letter, and he'd moved on to a second from Millie. He was vaguely aware of Dobby opening the door of his bedroom and sprinting silently down the stairs. Harry didn't care. He was probably off to report to Malfoy that his plan had failed. It wasn't until Harry heard a great crash and a woman's shriek that he suspected there might be more of a threat behind Dobby's final words.

Harry heard a great thundering as someone raced back up the stairs. The footsteps were heavy, not the light patter of the house elf, so Harry was only partially surprised to see his Uncle Vernon looming in the doorway.

“I didn't do it,” Harry said immediately.

This was of course a mistake. He looked more guilty than ever now.

“Oh, and I suppose the pudding just picked itself up and flew across the room all on its own?” Vernon asked viciously.

“I dunno, maybe it was ghosts.” Harry said.

If he thought that his uncle would more readily accept the existence of ghosts than house elves, he was sadly mistaken. Vernon's face turned red with suppressed rage, then deepened into a mottled purple as he spat, “Ghosts. Aren't. Real.”

“Yes they are,” Harry retorted rather unwisely, “They're all over my school.”

Mentioning Hogwarts was the last thing Harry should have done. Vernon's purple face turned into a sickly green at the reminder.

“Your school... your school! It was that infernal lunatic asylum that taught you all these ridiculous tricks! I won't have you mentioning it in my house again! Do you understand me?”

He'd crossed the room to glower over Harry in a few short strides. Harry bunched himself up against the wall, drawing his knees protectively over his chest as he glared at his uncle defiantly. He thought of a few things he'd like to say to this tyrannical giant, but he thought better of it. Dobby obviously meant to keep Harry locked up under the Dursley's rule. If he made any step out of line, the Dursley's were more than capable of keeping him under lock and key all school year.

Harry settled for a mere nod of his head, not trusting himself to speak. Vernon composed himself as best he could and a moment later headed back down the stairs, slamming Harry's bedroom door while he went.

Harry returned to his letters, which he'd thankfully had the presence of mind to stuff under his bedcovers just before Vernon's stormy entrance. He amused himself with their perusal, thinking he'd managed to get off pretty easy this time. Vernon no doubt had to return to his guests, and hadn't the time to harass Harry any more.

But only a few minutes later, he heard a second shriek echo from downstairs, and the confused sound of chairs being pushed back or pushed over. Harry hid his letters again and listened. There was the sound of running footsteps, and a woman shouting about “lunatics.” Harry heard a low murmur of a man's voice, his words indistinguishable but the displeased tone of his voice very clear. Vernon was loudly trying to make some explanation or excuse to him, but a moment later the front door closed with a heavy thud, and for a moment, silence.

Harry didn't like this silence. He liked to keep tabs on the Dursleys. It was better for him to know where they were and what they were doing at all times. Whenever anything went wrong, it was somehow always Harry's fault. He was sure it was only a matter of time before his uncle made his way slowly back up the stairs, and he braced himself for the confrontation.

Rather than come to him, Harry heard himself being called down to the living room.

“BOY!” roared Vernon's voice from the base of the stairs, “GET DOWN HERE NOW!”

Harry knew that to hesitate was to bring more trouble upon himself, so while he preferred to remain in his room to avoid whatever was in store for him, he nevertheless sprang from his bed and made directly toward the door, stopping only to hide his letters in a desk drawer.

Vernon stood glowering at him at the base of the stairs. Harry saw another letter clutched in his fat hand. Harry understood what happened immediately. The letter must have arrived by owl, upsetting Vernon's guests. Harry wondered who could have sent him a message so soon after Dobby's interference ended, and he didn't have long to satisfy his curiosity. Vernon quickly shoved the letter into Harry's chest, demanding that he read it aloud.

He stood blocking the bottom stair, and Harry slightly enjoyed the sensation of standing above him for a change as he popped open the wax seal on the parchment. He spared a glance over Vernon's shoulder to spy his Aunt Petunia and Dudley, standing at the threshold of the parlor and watching him with tense faces.

Harry looked down at the page, and obediently read.

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We Have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at three minutes past eight. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school..._

 

Harry faltered, his gaze traveling up to witness the change in his uncle. Vernon was angrily chewing on a corner of his bushy black mustache.

“Not permitted to perform spells outside school...” he repeated darkly, his eyes boring into Harry. To Harry's surprise, he didn't say anything more, merely gave a jerk of his head indicating that Harry should continue. Harry glanced at the page, skimming over the part that warned of expulsion if he repeated his presumed offense, and began at the next paragraph.

 

_We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock's Statute of Secrecy._

 

There was a cheerful closing which inappropriately clashed against Harry's present feelings, and a signature from Mafalda Hopkirk of the Improper Use of Magic Office in the Ministry of Magic, but Harry felt that Vernon was not interested in these little details. Harry looked up from the letter once again and braced himself for the storm that was soon to follow.

But Vernon did not explode with anger, as expected. Instead, he nodded his head a few times, as if agreeing to whatever thoughts were running through his mind. He continued to chew on the corner of his mustache. Harry knew better than to interrupt his train of thought, but he was deeply disturbed. The Dursley's belief that Harry could curse them at any moment was the only thing that had kept his stay with them remotely tolerable all summer. He feared the treatment that was in store for him now that the truth was exposed. Perhaps if Vernon had ranted and raved as he usually did when he lost his temper with Harry, he could have simply weathered the storm and things would eventually settle down. Instead, Vernon was _thinking_. His continued silence did not bode well for Harry.

“Right....” he finally said, the word coming out as sharp and deadly as a kitchen knife. To his credit, Harry didn't flinch, though he saw Petunia give a small jump as Vernon obviously reached a decision.

“Right, right... Not allowed to do magic outside of school, eh? Well so much the better. I've got news for you, boy... You're _never_ going back to that school. You're going to stay right here, in your room, where I can keep an eye on you and ensure none of... none of... this _magic_ ever happens under my roof again!”

Harry had no doubt that his uncle would remain true to his word, and he made a desperate attempt to jump the stair banister, thinking he could force the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, collect his belongings, and make his escape. He would rather risk expulsion than spend the rest of his life a prisoner of the Dursleys. But before he could make his move, Vernon had already grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to his bedroom.

Things did not get better from there. The following morning, Uncle Vernon had bars fitted over the window of Harry's bedroom. A cat flap was installed on the bedroom door so that Harry's food was slipped in to him three times a day. He was permitted to have only two bathroom breaks, morning and night, and he even overheard Vernon and Petunia discussing getting him a commode, so that even these breaks would be prohibited. Harry felt like he was truly in prison.

He would have conjured himself out, and taken his chances with the Ministry, but his wand was locked up with the rest of his school things in the cupboard downstairs. He worried about his wand and spell-books constantly, as it was only a matter of time before Vernon reasoned that if Harry was not to return to school, they could simply burn all evidence of his time at Hogwarts. Harry thought instead of finding another means of breaking out. He tried to pick the lock himself, but wasn't sure how the mechanism worked. He thought of breaking the padlock on Hedwig's cage and sending her to get help, but even if he could somehow manage it, the bars were fit too closely for even Hedwig to squeeze through.

That night, Harry sat on his bed with a cold lunch-meat sandwich that had been slid through the cat flap by his Aunt Petunia. He tried to reason with her, using his most wheedling tone, but she had already moved away from the door. She hadn't spoken a word to him since the owl incident.

Harry pulled some of the meat from his sand-which and a wilted piece of lettuce and offered it to Hedwig, who ruffled her feathers in consternation and glared at him.

“I know, but bear with me,” Harry told her in a conciliatory tone, “I'll think of a way out of this.”

 


	15. Ascending Downs

Three days passed, and Harry was no closer to breaking his way out of the bedroom than he'd been before. He had tried picking the locks on both the door and Hedwig's cage to no avail. Once, when he heard the Dursley's go out, he had spent the afternoon throwing himself against the door, thinking to bust it open. But he was a small and scrawny twelve-year-old. All he had managed to do was develop a magnificent bruise on his shoulder. Trying to coax his Aunt Petunia was like talking to a brick wall, so that was out of the question. He considered tricking his cousin into letting him out, but so far Dudley had given Harry's bedroom a wide berth. Harry figured he was under strict orders to pretend that his cousin simply ceased to exist.

Harry, in his desperation, and settled on a plan. He would feign an illness, think that then the Dursleys would be forced to take him to a doctor, or at least open the door to see that he wasn't dead. But on the very day he decided to enact this brilliant plan, he heard from below a knock at the front door.

The Dursleys usually went out rather than bring guests over, wanting to avoid any possibility of Harry being observed by their friends and acquaintances. This was especially true after Harry's imprisonment began, and even sleepovers from Dudley's friends had been suspended. Harry listened attentively, wondering who it was who could be dropping by, and prepared to scream for help at a moment's notice.

He heard Vernon's deep voice speaking to someone, but Harry couldn't make out what was said. He crouched by his bedroom door, putting his ear near the plastic cat flap, straining to hear better.

If he didn't know better, he would have thought that was the voice of Mrs. Zabini. But surely he had to be imagining things. A diet of nothing but cold soup still in the can must finally be taking its toll on his mind.

Vernon was speaking again. Harry could make out the words, “He doesn't live here.”

Suddenly a third voice rang out, clearly calling his name. Harry's heart swelled. There could be no mistake this time.

“Blaise!” Harry shouted at the top of his voice, “I'm here! I'm upstairs!”

He heard Vernon give a yelp and the sound of quick feet rushing up the stairs. Harry pounded on the door to signify which room was his, and a moment later the knob was jiggling back and forth.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Blaise asked, his voice slightly muffled by the door, “Let me in!”

“I can't,” Harry said, “It's locked from the outside.”

“MUM!” called Blaise, and a moment later Harry heard the smooth voice of Mrs. Zabini join that of her son.

“Harry, dear?” she called softly, “Could you stand clear of the door, please?”

Harry obediently jumped back, and the door blasted open enough force to slam into the wall, knocking out a large chunk of plaster where the knob had struck. Mrs. Zabini stepped calmly into Harry's bedroom, as if she hadn't nearly knocked his door off its hinges. Harry thought she looked more grand and beautiful than ever in her long purple witches robes. Blaise was close at her heels, greeting Harry with a wide grin before casting his eyes around the bedroom.

Mrs. Zabini was giving Harry's room similar scrutiny. Harry had no doubt that she observed the bars on the window and the lock on Hedwig's cage. And if course, there was Harry himself, looking skinny, pale, and generally miserable.

Mrs. Zabini's lip compressed into a thin line, and when she spoke to Harry, he could tell it was taking all of her self-possession to keep herself under control.

“Harry,” she said with forced softness, “Gather your things. You're coming with us.”

Harry was bursting with joy, but he tried to contain his emotion, thinking his excitement would contrast too sharply with Mrs. Zabini's calm demeanor. He and Blaise could celebrate his rescue later.

Instead, Harry simply replied, “I can't. All of my things are locked in the cupboard downstairs.”

“We'll get them,” said Blaise confidently. He had already slipped farther into the room and was lifting Hedwig's cage from the desk. “Where's the cupboard?”

“Under the stairs where I used to sleep,” said Harry.

The words escaped before he considered the effect they would produce. Mrs. Zabini uttered an involuntary sound of disgust, then immediately left the room. Harry and Blaise exchanged a glance, then Harry led the way down the stairs, pausing only to collect his treasured letters from their hiding place. Blaise carried Hedwig's cage himself, with the owl hooting to him in appreciation. Even she seemed to realize what was happening, and was grateful for it.

Mrs. Zabini stood at the base of the stairs near the open front door. She was loudly berating Vernon and Petunia, while Dudley poked his head around an open doorway, obviously intimidated by the imposing witch. Harry and Blaise paused halfway down the stairs, listening as Mrs. Zabini threatened to contact the Muggle authorities and report the Dursleys for child abuse. Vernon blustered and made several futile attempts to argue, but Mrs. Zabini drowned his pathetic attempts with her righteous fury. She appeared to notice that Blaise and Harry were waiting, and she broke off mid-sentence, turning to the boys and saying, “Harry, lead the way” with the same oddly calm voice she had used upstairs.

Harry jumped down the last few steps and showed Mrs. Zabini the door to the cupboard, locked against his entry. Mrs. Zabini pointed her wand at the lock, saying “ _Alohamora_ ,” rather more sharply than the spell required. The lock gave a swift click and the door swung open quickly, as if terrified of keeping her waiting any longer. She next waved her wand at Harry's trunk, full of all his school supplies and robes, and it vanished. Harry wondered if she'd sent it directly to her home.

He thought they would leave immediately, but Mrs. Zabini paused a moment longer, looking at one of the lower shelves of the cupboard. Harry followed her gaze and realized she was starting at a row of plastic toy soldiers – forgotten remnants of Harry's days sleeping below the stairs. She said nothing. She simply placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and gently guided him away from the cupboard door back down the hall.

“What is it, mum?” Blaise asked as his mother swept toward him, pushing Harry in front of her.

But Mrs. Zabini ignored his question, guiding him as she had Harry, and pushing them both out the front door, past the cowed Dursleys. Harry could see Mrs. Zabini's black car parked on the street. Once again, the driver was not immediately visible, until he saw that it was Torsh sitting behind the wheel, so short that they could barely see over the dash. He didn't realize how starved he'd been for the wizarding world until he felt a sense of overwhelming relief seeing the familiar little elf.

“Er... See you next summer?” Harry said awkwardly as he took one last look through the open front door at his dumbstruck muggle relations.

“No, Harry. I don't think so,” Mrs. Zabini said before the Dursleys had even a moment to respond.

An instant later, Harry was being bundled into the car. He stopped Mrs. Zabini before she could place Hedwig's cage in the backseat with him, staying, “Wait! She's been cooped up all summer. Do you think she could fly to meet us?”

Mrs. Zabini unlocked the padlock with a flick of her wand, and Hedwig soared out, hooting with pleasure and spreading her white wings. Harry smiled. He understood exactly how Hedwig must feel.

Soon they were speeding away from Privet Drive, and then Little Whinging was left far behind. Mrs. Zabini sat in the front seat next to Torsh, a chilly silence surrounding her, but Harry understood that she was not angry with him. It was something of a new experience for Harry – to have someone mad at the Dursleys instead of the Dursleys being mad at him. Harry tried to calm her, feeling that he had to say something to minimize the effect of what she just witnessed.

“It's nothing, really,” Harry said, “They're always like that.”

“Harry, nothing about _that_ was normal,” Mrs. Zabini replied shortly, and that was all she said for the rest of the drive.

Harry and Blaise sat in the spacious backseat together, happily spending the drive chatting relentlessly about their summers. Of course, Harry didn't have much to share, as the first part of his summer was spent languishing for some word from his friends, and the last few days were spent in solitary confinement. He preferred to listen to Blaise talk about the numerous dinner parties at magical homes his mother had dragged him to, the Quidditch match he'd seen in person, and shopping trips to Diagon Alley.

“But why didn't you respond to any of my letters?” Blaise finally asked when he'd exhausted all other topics, “I've been writing, and I even got a letter from Millie, but nothing from you. I was really worried. Millie said you hadn't written to her either. I told mum we could use the phone to call, but I realized I didn't know your number.”

“The Dursleys would never let me talk on the phone, anyway,” said Harry, “And I would have written, but Hedwig was locked up, remember?”

“You could have sent a letter back by my owl,” Blaise said petulantly, “There's nothing wrong with Mephistopheles.”

“That's the thing, I never got your letters.”

“Liar, I see you carrying a stack of them right now!”

“No, you see... I didn't get the letters until three days ago.”

Blaise looked at Harry curiously, but Harry shot a telling glance at the back of Mrs. Zabini's head. Her silence and chilly atmosphere suggested that she was probably lost in her own rage-fueled thoughts, but Harry still worried that she might be listening in. He knew that she was friends with Draco Malfoy's mother, and he didn't want to say anything to implicate the Malfoys in the incident of the house elf in her presence.

“Later,” Harry mouthed silently, and Blaise understood. He abruptly changed the subject back to Quidditch, and they were able to carry on their conversation comfortably and enthusiastically for the rest of the drive.

* * *

 

Harry wasn't sure what the distance between Little Whinging and Ascending Downs was, but it seemed to him that the drive was rather shorter than it should have been. They were soon zooming through the sleepy muggle village, and cruising down the private country road leading to the Zabini's stately home.

Harry sprang out of the backseat behind Blaise, laughing about something he said. Hedwig had beaten them there, her wings carrying her faster than even a charmed car could go by road, and she swooped down to land on Harry's shoulder, rubbing her feathers against him affectionately. She gave an indignant hoot as Harry dragged the cage out from the backseat, but Harry reassured her that she wouldn't have to go back in the cage now that they were here.

As it turned out, Harry's trunk was in the boot of the car, and Torsh was hopping out to carry it upstairs. Harry insisted that he help carry his things to his room, though Blaise laughingly told him that Torsh could simply send it upstairs with a snap of their fingers. Harry shook his head, saying he wanted to do it himself, and asked Blaise to carry the cage up with him. Blaise caught on to Harry's intent, and soon the two of them were dashing up the stairs as fast as their heavy burdens would allow, while Mrs. Zabini swept off to the study, closing the door behind her.

Blaise led Harry to the same room where he'd stayed during his visit last Christmas. Harry waited until his trunk was safely stowed away before plopping onto the bed and eyeing Blaise seriously.

“Have you ever heard of a house elf named Dobby?” Harry asked without preamble.

“Dobby?” Blaise repeated, wrinkling his nose in thought, “No, it doesn't sound familiar.”

“It's Malfoy's house elf,” Harry explained, “He's been stealing my letters all summer. I only just got them when he appeared in my bedroom a few days ago.”

“The _Malfoy_ elf?” Blaise said, aghast, “What would Draco want with your letters?”

“I don't think he wanted them,” Harry said, though the comment had suggested a sudden horrifying possibility. Had Draco been reading his mail?

Harry decided not to consider the thought, and pushed it aside, instead adding, “Dobby said he was trying to keep me from returning to Hogwarts. He thought if he stole my letters, then I would feel bad and not want to go back to school.”

Blaise pondered this information for a moment, then he smirked. “Did it work? Did you miss me?”

“Who would miss your ugly face?” Harry retorted, throwing one of the bed's pillows in Blaise's face rather than admit that yes, he'd missed his friend terribly.

“Ugly!” Blaise exclaimed as he tossed the pillow right back, “I'll have you know that my personal beauty has grown tenfold since you last saw me! It's true, I didn't think it was possible for me to look more glorious, but apparently there's always room for improvement. What will the girls say this year?”

Harry made retching noises.

When they'd finished tormenting one another, Blaise put on a pensive expression and resumed their former topic of conversation.

“But you know, I bet Malfoy is trying to keep you from Hogwarts so he won't have any competition. You know he wants to be Seeker?”

“Over my dead body,” said Harry gravely. The Seeker position had opened up last year with the graduation of Terence Higgs, and Harry would be damned before he'd let anyone else take it, much less Draco Malfoy.

“Oh, he'll never get it,” Blaise said. “Not since you'll have the broom that mum gave you. A Nimbus 2000 can outstrip Draco's Twigger easy.”

“Aren't you going to try out for the team?” Harry asked, a little anxious that he might have his best friend as competition.

“And risk getting a bludger to the face? No thanks, Harry. My looks are far too precious. I'm content with being a spectator. You on the other hand...”

Blaise gave a Harry a pitying look, implying that Harry's looks couldn't be much affected by a bludger breaking his nose. Harry retorted with a forceful pillow attack. The two grappled for several minutes until Blaise broke away abruptly, shouting, “I'm starving! Let's see what Torsh has made for tea. You look like you haven't eaten properly since the end of year feast!”

Harry didn't want to admit that this was probably true. The Dursleys weren't big on feasts, and they barely let Harry have the scraps of whatever was prepared, but Harry said only that he wanted to take his shoes off first and settle in. Blaise stated he would go place their order with Torsh and headed out the door, Harry promising to catch up in a moment.

He spent a few minutes opening his trunk and pulling out all of the things he'd missed that summer. He even playfully tried on his school robes, just to see how they fit. He checked his reflection in the mirror and saw with disappointment that he'd barely grown at all over the summer. He could wear these robes for another year without them becoming too short. Next, he dragged out all his spellbooks, mentally noting that he should brush up on their summer assignments before the start of term. He didn't want to start his second year far behind everyone else.

When he felt unpacked, he looked around his room proudly, feeling more at home in this room that he'd barely lived in than he ever had at the Dursleys. He wondered at Mrs. Zabini's words when they'd left the house on Privet Drive. Was she going to invite him to stay next summer?

Harry thought about what it would be like to never see the Dursleys again, and strangely felt nothing. His Aunt Petunia was the only sister of his mother, and yet he found himself thinking that he wouldn't be hurt if he never heard from her again. Then his stomach growled, and he decided it was time to put these thoughts aside, and follow Blaise back downstairs.

He was surprised to see his friend in the hall. He was standing near the closed study door, his ear pressed against the oak wood. As Harry approached him, Blaise lifted his finger to his lips, requesting silence, and Harry began tiptoeing closer. He copied Blaise, pressing his ear against the door, though he hardly needed to. Mrs. Zabini's voice was ringing out loud and clear from within. She sounded angry, like she was screaming at someone else in the room.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Blaise, asking without words if there was anyone else home. For a moment he feared that she was screaming at Torsh, and he thought again of poor Dobby, beating his head against the windowsill. But Blaise merely shook his head in response, signaling for Harry to wait.

Harry continued to listen. Focusing his attention, he could easily make out what Mrs. Zabini was shouting.

“... complete lack of sense... of common _decency_! How could you think of leaving him with those people! Are you out of your mind? And don't bother to deny that you knew nothing of the matter. I know you've been keeping tabs on him. I ought to have you brought before the Ministry for negligence!”

She went on and on. Harry realized with a sinking sensation that she was talking about him. Clearly her anger toward the Dursleys would not be easily dispelled. But Harry couldn't imagine who she was directing her anger toward. Clearly not one of his relatives. Who else would be keeping tabs on him? Who else was in that room?

He tugged on Blaise's arm, signaling that they should move on. He felt awkward eavesdropping on Mrs. Zabini, especially since she was talking about him, and he wanted to ask Blaise if he knew what was going on.

Blaise looked like he would have liked to hear more, but he followed after Harry, keeping silent until the reached the kitchen, where Torsh was already laying out their tea by the windows of the kitchen nook.

“What was all of that about?” Harry asked.

“You, obviously,” Blaise said, taking a seat in one of the chairs and grabbing a pastry from the table.

“But why was she yelling?” Harry persisted. He was still feeling somewhat uneasy. He'd never heard Mrs. Zabini raise her voice to anything above a gentle laugh.

“I think she's writing a howler.”

“What's a howler?”

“Oh, right. You wouldn't know, would you? It's a sort of letter, but it yells at you for doing something wrong. And you can't ignore it. It'll open itself up and scream whenever it pleases if you try to ignore it. Mum's sent them before, but only on a couple occasions. She sent one to to Fudge when he passed a motion she wasn't pleased about, and another time she sent it to my stepdad when I was five. That was actually pretty funny. He was supposed to be great at divination, you know, looking into the future and whatnot? Anyway, he forgot about my birthday party, and mum was upset with him. Said something like 'if you're such a great prophet, how do you always miss important dates?'”

“What happened to him?” Harry asked. He'd always wanted to ask about Blaise's stepfathers, whose full-length portraits hung on the wall in the entryway.

“Oh him? Well, I said he was known for his predictions, right? Prophesies and all that? Well, one day he told my mum that he'd predicted the date of his own death. Pretty scary, right? Imagine, knowing when you're going to die...”

“And it happened just as he said it would?” Harry asked, fascinated.

Blaise made a wry face and said, “Well, no. He said he would die in his sleep at age ninety, but he died the next day when he was in a shop and a crystal ball fell on his head.”

Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or gasp. Blaise could see his look of shock, and was the first to burst out laughing. “I guess he wasn't as good as people thought!”

Once he realized that this was not a sad story for Blaise, Harry joined him in laughing. It was a morbid story, but something about its irony was truly funny. He found himself wondering which portrait matched the poor man, and was even more curious to know what had happened to the others.

His mind drifted back to Mrs. Zabini, and he wondered aloud, “But who would she be sending a howler to about me?”

Blaise shrugged, “Dumbledore, I expect.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry said, half in disbelief, half impressed, “What's he got to do with anything?”

“Well, someone must've placed you with your aunt after your parents... you know,” Blaise said. Harry thought it was interesting that he could speak so callously of one of his step-father's deaths, but he was always so careful to avoid mentioning the fate of Harry's parents. “Maybe mum thinks he knew about how you were treated, being the headmaster of the school and all.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, thinking this connection was tenuous at best. He kept thinking about what Mrs. Zabini had said, about someone keeping tabs on him. Then he remembered his Hogwarts letter last year. So many letters, delivered in spite of all his uncle's efforts, and all addressed to Harry Potter, the cupboard under the stairs. Surely someone at the school must have known. He wondered why he never thought of it before.

 


	16. Diagon Alley

Harry was finally able to send a reply to Millie's letters, which had grown steadily shorter and more irritable after the first had met with no response. Harry made sure to explain the mistake that had been made, and begged Mrs. Zabini to let Millie come visit. Blaise joined Harry's pleas, though they were hardly necessary, as Mrs. Zabini had no objection. She even suggested that Millie come spend the rest of the summer with them at Ascending Downs. Millie's parents were appealed to, and in no time at all, they had a response stating she could come the very next day.

Mr. and Mrs. Bulstrode were rather different than Harry had imagined. Millie took after her father, who was very tall and broad, with a large, square head atop even squarer shoulders. Surprisingly, Mrs. Bulstrode was very thin and bony, much like Harry's Aunt Petunia. She wasn't exactly pretty, but Harry got the impression that she was a woman who cared a great deal about appearances. To Harry's untrained eye, they were dressed in expensive clothes, though Mr. Bulstrode's formal-looking robes fit a little too tight across his chest and shoulders, as if he'd grown too big for them. He looked stiff and uncomfortable. Mrs. Bulstrode seemed more at ease in her slim-fitting gown, although Harry thought her clothes appeared a bit old-fashioned. There was a distinct smell of dust around them, and something similar to mothballs, causing Harry to suspect that these clothes were rarely worn, and had been dragged out specifically for this occasion.

Mrs. Zabini gave no indication of having noticed their slightly shabby appearance, though Blaise gave Harry a very pointed look, showing that the smell had not escaped his attention. Millie, thankfully, seemed like her normal self, if not a bit more surly than usual.

Mrs. Zabini invited everyone in to have a cup of tea. The Bulstrodes accepted graciously, and soon they were seated around the fireplace in the grand parlor. Harry and Blaise were doing their best to behave, when all they really wanted to do was drag Millie from the room and tell her everything they knew, and suspected, about Draco's plans to keep Harry from Hogwarts this year.

Instead, they silently sipped their tea while the adults made small talk.

“It's terribly kind of you to allow Millie to stay with us for the rest of the summer,” Mrs. Zabini was saying, “Blaise has talked of nothing else but having his friends over for a visit.”

“No trouble at all,” Mr. Bulstrode replied. Harry was surprised to see his rather gruff face break into a warm smile, “We should be thanking you. Very kind of you to take in interest in our poor Millicent.”

Harry saw Millie's cheeks turn a light pink. She lowered her face and drank her tea in silence.

“I take an interest in all of Blaise's friends,” Mrs. Zabini said.

“Yes, I see,” noted Mrs. Bulstrode. Her gaze had rarely strayed from Harry since they first arrived, though she hadn't yet ventured to address him. Harry felt embarrassed as her eyes raked over his hairline, clearly searching for the scar hidden beneath his fringe.

She finally looked away, turning to address Mrs Zabini, “But it really is very kind of your son and... It's very kind of the boys to make friends with our Millicent. We know she hasn't much to offer someone like...”

“Millie's great,” Harry blurted. Millie was staring straight at her feet. She refused to raise her head.

Millie's father had carefully avoided looking at Harry as much as Mrs. Bulstrode had done nothing but stare. Now he turned his full attention to Harry for the first time, and Harry saw his warm smile turn to stone. The expression was still there, but Harry felt as if the grin did not quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, we know our girl is special! But that's just a parent's partiality. We know it can be _difficult_ for other people to appreciate her merits. I daresay you boys took an interest in her out of pity. It's the best we can expect, but we hope in time you'll come to be good friends.”

“We're already good friends,” Harry asserted. “Millie is the coolest girl I know.”

“Mum, can we go show Millie where she'll be sleeping?” Blaise asked suddenly. Harry got the impression that he wanted to distract everyone before things got serious.

Harry and Blaise jumped out of their seats before Mrs. Zabini could grant them permission. Millie was no less reluctant to rise and follow them. She gave her parents an awkward sort of curtsy that Harry found strangely formal, then she followed the boys out of the room without a backward glance.

Harry took a moment to compose himself. He was angry and embarrassed on Millie's behalf. His own treatment by the Dursleys had been dreadful, but at least he knew where he stood with them. Poor Millie had parents who at least _seemed_ to mean well, but what good could they think to do by talking about her as if she wasn't there?

Harry didn't know what to say, and clearly Blaise was at a loss as well. They trekked up the staircase, saying not a word between them, and Harry knew there had to be some way to break the silence. He wanted to say something reassuring, but knowing Millie, she would resent any reference to the conversation they'd all just heard. It would be better to say nothing at all.

“Draco Malfoy sent his house elf to spy on me,” Harry said abruptly as they reached the landing.

“He did what with who?” Millie asked, her downcast eyes immediately rising to meet Harry's green ones, searching for an explanation.

Pleased that his first attempt met with success, Harry proceeded to tell her about Dobby, and his plan to keep Harry away from Hogwarts.

“So that's why you didn't get any of my letters!” Millie exclaimed as they reached the guest bedroom that had been prepared for her. “But you could have written to me, you know. Then at least I would have known something was wrong.”

“I wanted to write, but I couldn't. Hedwig was locked up.”

“Locked up?”

“The Dursleys. My relatives,” Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Another story.”

“And you think Malfoy is trying to prevent you from joining the Quidditch team?” Millie asked.

Harry glanced at Blaise, the one who first suggested the idea. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, that's the only thing I can think of. Why else would he be trying to keep me from school?”

“The elf said something about a plot right? A dangerous plot?”

“He was probably just trying to scare me,” said Harry, “It didn't work. Nothing's scarier than the thought of living the rest of my days on Privet Drive.”

Millie was soon called down to say a final farewell to her parents. Harry and Blaise watched from the top of the landing, gazing down into the foyer antisocially, despite Mrs. Zabini's efforts to coax them down to give a proper send-off. Millie's parents did not appear affronted. They merely gave their daughter a hug and waved at the two boys cheerfully, taking their leave without much ado. Harry thought they seemed rather glad to be rid of Millie. He wasn't sorry to see them go.

* * *

 

 The day finally came when their Hogwarts letters arrived.

They were seated at the breakfast table, in the close, familiar nook that was often the place for meals when there was no company to be entertained in the large dining room. Mrs. Zabini was enjoying a cup of coffee while reading the Daily Prophet, and Harry and Blaise where having a game of kicking at each other under the table, before Harry accidentally kicked Millie, and she upset a tureen of orange juice. Mrs. Zabini was about to scold them all when three brown owls soared through the open window and deposited three identical envelopes in the laps of the children.

“I'd wondered when we'd be getting these,” Mrs. Zabini said as Torsh whisked away the sticky orange mess with a snap of their fingers.

Blaise tore open his letter and tossed aside the first page carelessly. Harry was in the processes of opening his own, and saw that the first page contained the familiar reminder that start of term was September first, as if Harry would ever forget, and that they would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9 ¾.

The pages that Blaise glanced over contained their school supply list.

“Nearly every book on here is by some bloke named Gilderoy Lockhart!” Blaise exclaimed. “Would you listen to these titles? _Wanderings with Werewolves, Gadding with Ghouls, Holidays with Hags..._ You'd think he was pals with every monster imaginable!”

“ _Wanderings with Werewolves_ , indeed,” Mrs. Zabini said, plucking the list from Blaise's fingers and running her own eyes over the titles, “He makes them sound quite docile.”

“We'll have to go to London, won't we mum?” Blaise asked, sounding excited, “We'll only be able to get all this stuff in Diagon Alley.”

“Yes, I suppose there's no sense putting it off. And a long drive sounds nice,” agreed Mrs. Zabini. She folded the letter back, sliding her fingers along the creases with a decisive gesture, “Finish your breakfast. I'll just get dressed and we'll be off shortly.”

It must take great deal of work to look as lovely as Mrs. Zabini every day, as it was over an hour before they set off. Mrs. Zabini had changed into a long pumpkin orange gown over which she threw a light-weight, brown cloak. Harry had never much cared for the color orange, but he found that on Mrs. Zabini, it was stunning.

* * *

 

Diagon Alley was exactly the way Harry remembered. Harry raced his friends down the slightly crooked street to the shining white structure that was Gringott's bank. Millie had already been given an allowance from her parents to complete her school shopping, and but she tagged along with the others while Harry and Blaise stopped by their vaults. Harry had never felt any shame about the small fortune his parents had left him, but he was astounded to see just how much wealth lay hidden in the Zabini family vault. The amount of gold, precious gems, and other assorted finery packed into the large chamber was frankly obscene, and Harry found himself averting his eyes, as if ashamed should Blaise find him staring.

“Can I take this with me?” Harry heard him ask.

“Certainly not. That was Trey's.”

“Yeah, _hence_ , I want it!”

“And what exactly would you do with an enchanted sword?”

“Mum, _aesthetic_.”

“Put it down. I don't even know what it does.”

Harry heard a clatter as Blaise dropped whatever sword he was holding in frustration. He begged his mother to let him take a few more jewel-encrusted artifacts for “aesthetic reasons” before finally bagging up a healthy amount of galleons, and departing.

Mrs. Zabini insisted that their first stop be a salon. Harry was curious to see what a witch's salon would be like, though he felt a little embarrassed going there as a boy. Millie flat out refused to be a part of their trip, and stalked off to a nearby store to stock up on parchment and ink. It wasn't until Harry saw Blaise confidently stroll inside the alarmingly pink building that Harry followed suit.

Mrs. Zabini wanted them both to get their hair trimmed. Harry sat in a chair not much different than the chairs he'd seen in barber shops, though this was a bit more cushy and shaped a little like an armchair.

The witch assisting Harry had a difficult time of it. While Blaise laughed from his chair as the witch serving him used charms to make his hair grow longer and shorter in turns, Harry's tried potion after potion on his stubbornly untidy mane without success.

“I just don't understand it!” she finally cried after dumping nearly an entire bottle of “Sleekeazy's Hair Potion” on Harry's head, only to have it bounce right back to its original shape.

“I've tried nearly every trick I know! Is this some sort of curse you're under?”

Blaise, hearing the comment, laughed louder as Harry tried to stammer out his apologies for something he had no control over. Mrs. Zabini's eyes flicked in their direction while a little fairy painted intricate murals on her nails with a minuscule paintbrush.

“I suppose it can't be helped, Clara,” she said, “Just give him a trim if you can and leave it be.”

Clara didn't seem satisfied with this, though she complied with Mrs. Zabini's recommendation, she was still muttering about a possible hair tonic as Harry leapt from his chair and was disappointed to see little change in his reflection.

Blaise strolled over to him with a huge grin on his face. His hair had been neatly trimmed, and Harry was impressed to see the image of a serpent twisting its way along the side of his head. It shimmered a vibrant green when Blaise turned his head from side to side.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he asked, “The color is a charm. It'll fade in a few weeks. But I thought it might be good to start the school year with a little house pride.”

Harry eyed the green snake enviously.

“Cool...” he breathed.

“Huh?” said Blaise, turning to look at him in confusion.

“I said cool!” Harry repeated, giving his friend a wide smile to hide his jealousy. He wished his hair were more manageable. Perhaps he should have asked Clara to crop his short like Blaise, but then again, he was sure he'd look ridiculous if he tried a similar style.

Blaise trotted over to his mother, who rolled her eyes at the sight of the green serpent, but said nothing against it, perhaps thinking the damage had already been done. As she was still having her nails painted, and the little fairy doing the work was busily mixing new colors on an impossibly small palette, it didn't seem she would be done any time soon, Blaise begged leave to go shopping with Harry and Millie alone. Mrs. Zabini used her free hand to pass the school supply list to Blaise, telling him she would meet with him outside Florian Fontescue's ice cream parlor.

Free to wander the streets, Harry and Blaise found Millie seated at the very ice cream parlor where they'd promised to meet Mrs. Zabini. She was sitting at a small bistro table outdoors, eating a sundae of a strange light-purple color. Seated in her lap was a large, long-haired black cat.

“Hello, who's this?” Blaise asked as he took a seat opposite Millie.

“I just bought him at the pet shop,” said Millie, “My parents said I could take a pet with me to Hogwarts this year. I saw him in the window and thought he was perfect. I think I'll call him Mammon.”

The cat was staring fixedly at Harry, and Harry stared back at the cat. He wasn't sure if “perfect” was the word he'd use to describe him. Ever since the days when the Dursleys would leave him with his cat-loving neighbor, Mrs. Figg, Harry had developed a sort of aversion to cats. And as far as cats went, Mammon was an unsettling creature. Its fur was black as pitch, its features nearly lost in the darkness of its coat. Only its eyes stood out, bright and golden, as it continued to stare at Harry. Finally, it opened its mouth, and Harry saw a flash of white and pink as it hissed evilly at him.

“You shouldn't stare, Harry. Cat's don't like that.”

Harry nearly stated that if they didn't like it, then they shouldn't stare themselves, but decided against it.

Blaise suddenly cried out, “Not fair! Harry's got Hedwig, and now you've got a cat. I want a pet, too!”

“What about Mephistopheles?” Harry asked, referring to the Zabini's owl.

“That's _mum's_ owl. He's alright, but she won't send him with me. She needs him for all her _correspondence_.”

Something about the way he said it made Harry think he'd had this conversation with his mother already. Millie suggested he simply ask for his own owl, and Harry agreed. Mrs. Zabini did not seem the kind of mother to refuse this request from her son.

Blaise decided he would ask as soon as she was done at the salon, and the trio amused themselves with ordering more ice cream than necessary, and stuffing their faces until Mrs. Zabini appeared.

“Mum! I want an owl!” Blaise said the moment she arrived.

They were not disappointed. Mrs. Zabini agreed to the scheme without argument, merely stating that Blaise would have to be responsible for the animal, taking care of its feeding and cleaning and the like. Blaise agreed, privately sharing that care for the owls was done at Hogwarts by house-elves, and he would simply ask Torsh to care for his pet during holidays.

Millie followed their group back to Eelops Owl Emporium, which housed a number of other familiars, rather than just owls. Millie began browsing the shelves for a collar or something that would suit her cat, while Mrs. Zabini and Blaise engaged the shopkeeper in a discussion of different owl breeds, and their various benefits.

Harry stood near them for a moment, until his attention was drawn to one wall of the shop. It was completely filled by shelves, and on those shelves were various glass tanks of different sizes and odd shapes. Harry found himself moving closer to peer inside these strange compartments. Several were filled with frogs and toads in every color imaginable. There were bright blue poison dart frogs and large toads with orange eyes and bumpy green skin. One circular tank housed a particularly large, nasty looking spider, until Harry realized the curve of the glass merely magnified its size to monstrous proportions, and the spider he saw was actually a snack for the bearded dragon within. Harry smiled at the reptile, and continued to browse the shelves, peering at the assortment of amphibians and reptiles within.

He stopped at a small rectangular tank, where a spotted python was sunbathing under an enchanted red orb, which was giving off a strong heat. The snake lifted its head to peer at Harry as he approached, and Harry felt an odd sense of deja vu.

“What are you looking at?” asked a voice over his shoulder.

Harry jumped in surprise, striking Blaise across the shoulder for startling him. Blaise laughed, then spied the snake that was now slowly uncurling itself to get a better look at the two young wizards.

“Oh, cool!” Blaise exclaimed. He dipped his hand directly into the open top of the tank and pulled the snake from inside. Harry thought this was a rather bold move, and cautioned Blaise to be careful of a bite, but the snake did not appear to mind. It coiled its muscular body around Blaise's hand and wrist, peering at the two of them calmly. It's small, forked tongue flicked out of its mouth, smelling them.

“He's cute!” Blaise said, obviously delighted with the find. “What do you think? Think mum will let me get a snake instead of an owl?”

“I dunno. Are students allowed to bring snakes to school? I thought it was just owl, cat, or toad.”

“If Weasley can bring his mangy-looking rat to school, I don't see why I can't have a snake.”

Harry shrugged, then directed his attention to the python.

“Hello, there,” he said in greeting. The snake had been staring at him, and Harry made sure to blink rapidly. He wasn't sure if snakes disliked being stared at as much as cats. “Would you like to come to school with us?”

“Uh, Harry? What are you doing?”

Harry glanced up at Blaise, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“I was just saying hello,” Harry said.

“You were hissing.”

“I was?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Do you often talk to snakes?”

“Well no. Not often. I did talk to a snake at the zoo once. I accidentally made the glass disappear and it escaped. But that's not that strange, is it? I mean, I bet a lot of wizards can do it.”

“Not really, Harry,” said Blaise, looking impressed, “Actually, it's a really rare ability. Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth. He was famous for it. That's why, you know...”

He pointed to the green serpent etched into his hair.

“A parselmouth?” Harry repeated. He didn't need an explanation to guess the meaning of the word.

Blaise broke into a grin. “This is too cool! Do the snakes talk back to you?”

Harry looked back at the python in Blaise's hand, deciding to give it another go. “Um, I'm Harry Potter, and this is Blaise Zabini. Do you have a name?”

The snake flicked it's tongue out once more before giving a slow shake of its head.

“It says it doesn't have a name.”

“Ask it what it would like to be called!” Blaise demanded excitedly.

Harry asked, and the snake stared at him for a moment, as if thinking. To Harry's surprise, it spoke back to him. He could hear the words clearly, as if someone were whispering into his ear, but below that, he could also hear a faint hiss that was the snake's true voice.

_Whatever you choose..._

“It says you can choose a name,” Harry said to Blaise.

His friend was now bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, clearly elated. He dashed over to his mother, who was still in deep conversation with the shopkeeper about owls.

“Mum! I like this one. Can I?”

“Whatever you like, dear,” said Mrs. Zabini, distracted by the sight of a new birdcage she was eyeing for Mephistopheles.

The shopkeeper broke away from admiring Mrs. Zabini long enough to spot the snake in Blaise's hands.

“Ah! The Eastern Noose Python! Your son has excellent taste, madam,” he said.

Mrs. Zabini gave a start and turned to look at the snake in Blaise's hands. She gave him a withering look as she said, “Blaise... I thought you said you wanted your own owl?”

“You did say I could have whatever I like,” Blaise reminded her, “And besides, if I want to send anything, I can just borrow Hedwig, right Harry?”

Harry nodded his head in agreement. He was starting to get excited by the idea of having an animal around that he could converse with.

Mrs. Zabini rolled her eyes heavenward and asked the shopkeeper, “Do they get very big, these Noose Pythons?”

“Oh no, not so very big,” said the shopkeeper unconvincingly, “But they are whip smart. Very useful creatures to have as one's familiar. And particularly independent creatures. They require very little maintenance, and are quite capable of feeding themselves.”

Mrs. Zabini directed a stern gaze toward Blaise as she paid the shopkeeper and ordered the requisite supplies for the snake's care.

“If that thing eats my owl, I'll transfigure it into a belt.”

“He won't! He'll be good!”

Millie joined them a moment later and directed a surprised glance at the snake, who was happily coiling itself around Blaise's neck. Her look of surprise quickly evolved into one of suspicion, and she hugged Mammon close to her chest.

“You better keep that thing away from my cat,” she warned.

“Relax, Millie. He's just a baby. Your cat is like, ten times bigger than him.”

 


	17. At Flourish and Blotts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a continuation of Harry's trip to Diagon Alley. This and the previous chapter were originally meant to be one, but I found that it made for a very lengthy, busy chapter. I'm happy with the result of the split, but of course, if you have any constructive criticism on how I can improve pacing or storytelling in this or future chapters, it is most welcome. For now, enjoy!

They passed the Quidditch supply store on their way to purchase textbooks. Blaise nudged Harry's side and nodded to the broom featured in the window display. Harry looked at the broomstick and had to catch his breath. It was the newest broom in the Nimbus series, the same brand Mrs. Zabini had bought for him last Christmas, only the 2001 edition looked even more streamlined than the last. Harry ached to know how fast it could fly. He stopped in his tracks, taking in every feature of the new model, and thinking to himself that if he had this broom, he would easily take the seeker position on the Slytherin team this year.

“Mum? Can I have a new broom?” Blaise asked his mother, pointing at the window display.

But Blaise wasn't going to have as much luck with a new broom as he had with his new pet. Mrs. Zabini arched an eyebrow and asked, “What's wrong with the broom I bought you last year?”

“Nothing. But this is the _Nimbus 2001_. I'll bet it's the fastest broom ever made!”

“Fast brooms are what killed your step-father Icarus, remember?”

“That was a prototype.”

“I'm not getting you a new broom every time a new model is released, Blaise.”

“But...”

“End of discussion.”

Mrs. Zabini began walking down the street once again. Blaise followed at a slower pace, pouting magnificently. Millie, who'd never cared much about flying anyway, resumed her walk with a quiet, “Coming, Harry?”

Harry gave one last look at the glorious broom, then jogged to catch up with the long strides of his taller friends. He knew he could afford the Nimbus 2001 with the money jangling in his pocket, but it didn't seem right for him to purchase a new broom when Blaise was denied the same gift. Plus, he didn't want to seem ungrateful for the broom Mrs. Zabini had given him last year.

They reached Flourish and Blotts in no time at all, though Harry was at a loss to see how they would get in. The bookstore, always crowded by stacks and stacks of heavy books, was now fit to burst with all the people crowding through its open door. The line was so long they were spilling into the street, and Harry couldn't help but notice most of them were witches.

The explanation was soon apparent. The window display boasted the entire collection of Gilderoy Lockhart's books, their covers and titles dwarfed by a large poster of the wizard himself. Harry looked at the portrait, which was smiling and waving at the witches in line who tittered and fussed with their hair as if they'd been standing in front of the real thing. Harry saw shining words printed below the smiling face, proclaiming that the author would be having a book signing that very afternoon.

“You mean we actually get to meet him?” Blaise said with a laugh. He seemed excited by the prospect of meeting a wizard who had gained such sudden fame.

Millie groaned as she too spotted the date on the poster. “Oh no. My mum hasn't stopped talking about him all summer. I think she _fancies_ him.”

“Well, I've never heard of any Gilderoy Lockhart,” Mrs. Zabini said, eyeing the handsome image with interest, “We'll have to see if he's worth all the fuss.”

They had to wait in the crush struggling to enter the door, but soon enough, they were in. A harassed looking shop clerk was trying to shepherd the throng of witches into an orderly line, but they all resolutely ignored him, as each witch in the shop craned her neck to get a better view of the blond-haired, blue-eyed wizard grinning as broadly as his portrait. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting at a table on a sort of raised dais, surrounded by yet more copies of his book, each cover displaying his face and all his bright, white teeth.

“Why don't I get us a place in line?” Mrs. Zabini suggested, casting her eyes around the room to see where exactly the line began, “You can look among the shelves for the other books on your list.”

They split up, dodging around the bodies of Lockhart's adoring fans to find their school supplies. Harry rummaged around the transfiguration books, searching for the assigned reading ordered by McGonagall that year. Landing on the correct text, _Standard Book of Spells: Grade 2_ , he grabbed three copies, then went in search of the others. Blaise was lost somewhere in the herbology section, but Harry spotted Millie standing near the window display. He drew up to her side, and saw the look of distaste she was giving the smiling face on the novels.

“I can't believe we need to buy all of these,” Millie said, “I'll bet the new Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher is a woman.”

Harry looked at the various books on display, and suddenly thought of Millie's parents and their shabby finery. Millie was never dressed in robes that looked second-hand, but Harry wondered if the added expense of all these textbooks was really something they could afford. He wanted to help, but he didn't want to insult Millie. Thinking quickly, he began to gather the books in his arms.

“We should buy one set to share,” Harry said, “You're right, it doesn't make sense to buy all of these books three times over. I was going to ask you to do my dark arts assignments anyway.”

Thankfully, Millie didn't appear to suspect his real intentions. She merely nodded her head at the practicality of this plan, and said, “I'll do it if you do all of my transfiguration homework this year.”

“Deal,” Harry said instantly. It was no more than the plan they already worked out last year. He didn't need to ask to know that Blaise would gladly lend his charms talent to their homework-completion scheme.

Blaise appeared again just as Harry's thoughts had strayed to him. He clutched at his chest dramatically, gasping for air.

“I've only just made escaped,” he said, “I thought I'd never make it out alive.”

“Did you get the books?” Millie asked, ignoring his dramatics.

Blaise brandished a set of three potions books and the assigned charms reading, “Here, take them! I see how you are. Only using me to get to these books...”

“Speaking of using you,” said Harry, “We're gonna split the homework again this year, so Millie and I are only getting one set of Lockhart's books.”

“Not me!” Blaise declared, “I'm getting a signed set!”

“Really?” Millie asked, “You actually care about some puffed-up overnight celebrity?”

“And why not? These signed copies might be worth something someday. Actually, now that I think of it, it _is_ better that we share a set. That way I can keep the signed ones in mint condition.”

They rejoined Mrs. Zabini. While they had searched for their school books, she had worked her way nearly to the front of Lockhart's autograph line. Unlike the other witches, she appeared far less fussy, and didn't raise a hand to pat her hair the whole time she was waiting. Instead, Harry could detect a little self-satisfied smile at the corner of her mouth, as if she found the whole scenario highly amusing.

“Got them,” Blaise said as they rejoined his mother. Mrs. Zabini accepted the set of books for the signing and glanced over the others in Blaise's hands. Harry and Millie stood nearby, but they hung back slightly, having already decided their books didn't need a signature.

Harry was just starting to wonder if they had better go make their purchases while Mrs. Zabini finished her business with the famous author, when she reached the front of the line. Gilderoy Lockhart's face brightened at the sight of this new fan. Harry was amazed his grin could grow even wider than it had been before. Harry figured he could see every one of Lockhart's teeth as he turned his sparkling eyes toward Mrs. Zabini.

Harry could hear Lockhart grandly ask for her name, followed by Mrs. Zabini's quiet response. Blaise stood proudly by his mother's side as he was introduced, and Mrs. Zabini explained that Blaise and his friends needed Lockhart's books for their second year at Hogwarts.

“Ah, yes! Hogwarts students!” Lockhart said with more feeling than the simple comment called for. He broke his enchanted gaze from Mrs. Zabini to beam at her son, then his eyes swept quickly over Harry and Millie, clearly believing them to be beneath his notice. But then he gave a start, and took a second look at Harry. Harry felt his stomach clench as Lockhart's gaze traveled from his round glasses to his forehead, and Harry realized that whatever Clara had done to try to improve his messy hair had left his scar completely exposed.

“I don't believe it!” Lockhart exclaimed. “Can it be possible?”

He was already the center of attention, but his loud cry silenced all the chattering of his eager fans as they pressed closer, desperate to see what had so captivated their idol's attention.

Lockhart moved around the wooden table and took Harry by the arm, pulling him closer until Harry was forced to stand side by side with him on the small platform. To his horror, a reporter from the Daily Prophet immediately began snapping pictures.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Lockhart began grandly, “When young Harry Potter walked into this establishment to get his signed copy of my autobiography, _Magical Me_ ,” pause for wink, cameras flash, “He had no idea he would soon get the real thing! That's right witches and warlocks, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, have accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”The crowd burst into applause, which thankfully drowned out the noise of Blaise and Millie's laughter, but unfortunately led to more camera flashes. Soon Harry was being forced to shake hands with Lockhart while accepting a copy of his autobiography.

“And that's not all!” Lockhart added, “I will grant as a special favor to Mr. Potter my entire collection of works, free of charge! May he use them to his advantage in my classes this year.”

He thrust the books into Harry's hands while simultaneously grasping for another handshake.

“Smile, Harry,” he said in an undertone, “This might even make the front page!”

With Lockhart's publicity stunt out of the way, Harry was free to walk numbly back to his friends. Blaise and Millie had covered their mouths to suppress their giggles.

“You take these,” Harry said, thrusting the books at Millie in disgust, “I think I'd prefer to buy my own.”

“Don't be stupid, Harry,” Millie said, “You might not like the attention, but it's free books. We'll just share this set.”

“Besides,” added Blaise with a grin, “Do you really want to add to his book sales after that stunt?”

Harry had to agree that he didn't enjoy the idea of adding to Lockhart's wealth and celebrity any more than he already had, willingly or not. He quietly took his stack of ill-gotten books from Millie, and waited for Mrs. Zabini to finish getting her copies signed for Blaise. Harry wasn't at all surprised to see that Lockhart was also giving her a free copy of his memoirs. He signed the inside flap and passed the book to her with a debonair wink. It seemed to Harry that he spent more time chatting with Mrs. Zabini than he did his other fans.

The action was not lost on Blaise, who quickly confronted his mother has they made their way slowly through the ever-growing crowd of witches, with as much difficulty as trout moving upstream.

“Mr. Lockhart seems charming,” Mrs. Zabini said, “How lucky that he'll be your new professor this year.”

“Mum, you _cannot_ be serious,” Blaise whined, “Forget new teachers! If that guy becomes my new _step-dad_ , I'm running away from home!”

Mrs. Zabini merely laughed at her son and proceeded them out the door of the bookshop. They had to squeeze through a small gap in the crowd just before the door, single-file. Harry was last, keeping his head down to avoid the curious stares of the various witches who had witnessed Lockhart's spectacle. Just as he was about to slip outside, he heard a voice mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Bet you loved that, Potter. Do you ever get tired of showing off?”

Harry's head snapped in the direction of the voice, and he was surprised to see Ronald Weasley. The Gryffindor student was standing among the rest of his family, unmistakable thanks to the brilliancy of their bright red hair. Ron was positively glaring at Harry, though his relatives were all too busy to pay this confrontation any mind. That is, all but one. The youngest child and only girl was standing next to her brother, partially hidden behind him. Harry remembered seeing her on the platform just before his first year. Now she was watching him, her brown eyes flashing rapidly between her brother and Harry, as if frightened by what was happening.

Harry could have said something in response, but Millie had already bulldozed a path for him through the crowd, and was calling from outside. Harry decided to ignore Ron, but he still felt the injustice of the accusation. Why would anyone think he could enjoy that embarrassing scene?

They proceeded back down the street, his friends not realizing anything was amiss, or perhaps thinking he was still sullen over the encounter with Lockhart. Harry tried to regain the positive mood of he morning, and forced himself to smile at Blaise's jokes and Millie's humorous observations of the passerby. He was just starting to think he could put the unpleasantness of the bookstore behind him, when his calm was once again shattered by the appearance of Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco.

“Edana! Lovely to see you,” Mr. Malfoy said regally, offering his hand to Blaise's mother, “I didn't know you had business in Diagon Alley today. If you had told me, I would have offered to see to it myself.”

“That's kind of you,” said Edana with a chilly smile, “But I needed to help the children get their school supplies, and it's a little more than I would feel comfortable asking of you.”

While Mr. Malfoy made several small speeches about how it really would be no trouble at all, Edana cast her eyes around the crowd, seeming disappointed that her search yielded no results.

“But where is Narcissa?” she asked, cutting across some pointless remark that Mr. Malfoy was making for her benefit.

“At home,” was the brief response.

“I would have thought Narcissa would come to assist Draco with his school shopping.”

Mr. Malfoy cringed, “Ah yes, as to that, Draco's school things have already been seen to. My business is of another nature entirely... I assume you've heard of the raids at the Ministry?”

Mrs. Zabini gave a wave of her hand, as if to signify that he should continue. With her permission, Mr. Malfoy seemed to gain confidence, perhaps thinking he'd found someone of a kindred mind.

“That pugnacious Arthur Weasley is behind it all, of course. Pointless endeavor, trying to find dark magic relics in the homes of people who are his betters, but somehow he's frightened the Minister into agreement. I am above suspicion, of course, but there are a few family heirlooms that could be... uh... embarrassing if detected...”

“So naturally you're looking for a buyer hereabouts,” Mrs. Zabini completed for him, sparing him the difficulty of making excuses.

Mr. Malfoy looked properly relieved, “Yes indeed. I see you understand.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Zabini said with a sharp smile, “ _My_ family never kept any heirlooms that would embarrass _me_.”

Mr. Malfoy seemed unsure if she were serious or in jest, so he laughed to cover his discomfort.

During this interaction, Harry and Draco had stood in complete silence, staring at each other with open dislike. Harry had taken offense to Draco's behavior from the very beginning of their first year, and the relationship had not improved on a longer acquaintance. On Draco's part, he seemed to be unsure whether he wanted to be Harry's friend, or his most hated rival.

Finally, Draco was no longer able to contain himself, and he spit out “Potter,” as if the word were poison to him.

“Malfoy,” Harry said with equal venom.

The family name caught the attention of the elder, and Lucius Malfoy turned his attention from Mrs. Zabini to Harry for the first time.

“Ah yes! I had heard that Harry Potter was again your guest, Edana.”

Mrs. Zabini offered no response, and Harry felt compelled to say something.

“Hello again, Mr. Malfoy,” he said with much reluctance.

“Are you enjoying your summer?”

Harry nodded. He thought if he said very little, it would discourage Mr. Malfoy from speaking to him any more than absolutely necessary.

Mr. Malfoy smiled, “Of course you are. Far better to be among a wizarding family than those muggles you were forced to stay with, I imagine?”

He was absolutely right, but Harry wasn't going to agree with him if he could help it.

Seeing that Harry had no intention to respond, he added, “Well, if Edana and Blaise can ever spare you, you're always welcome to stay at Malfoy manor.”

It was the same offer Draco had made him many times before, and Harry was no less anxious to refuse outright. But before he could think of a proper way to turn down the offer, conscious that he risked insulting the husband of one of Mrs. Zabini's friends, Millie muttered something under her breath, just behind Harry's shoulder.

“I think I'd rather take my chances with the muggles, if I were you.”

She hadn't whispered softly enough, and the comment was not lost on the Malfoys.

“I beg your pardon?” said Mr. Malfoy with ill-concealed outrage, “And who might _you_ be?”

“She's Millicent _Bulstrode_ , father,” Draco said, a sarcastic smile on his face.

“A Bulstrode, is it?” Mr. Malfoy said, looking over Millie from head to toe as if she were some large, grotesque variety of beetle. “Yes, you have the look of your father about you.” He smiled then, as if he were paying her a great compliment, “Well, well... I had heard the Bulstrodes were in disgrace, but to think they'd fall in with blood traitors like the Weasleys...”

Millie dropped the books in her arms to the ground and made a sudden lunge toward Mr. Malfoy, who actually took a step back in alarm, but Mrs. Zabini placed a gentle hand on Millie's shoulder. She wasn't attempting to restrain the girl, but the light gesture was enough to recall Millie to her senses. She made no more moves to assault Mr. Malfoy or his son.

Mr. Malfoy straightened his robes and tried on a mask of dignity, but his next words were silenced by Edana, who brought their conversation to an abrupt end.

“Lovely to see you, Lucius,” she said while Millie stooped down to collect her fallen books, “Give my best to Narcissa, will you? It's been too long, she and I should get together for tea some afternoon.”

“I'm sure she'd be delighted,” Lucius said with a bow, casting one last hateful stare at Millie before Mrs. Zabini swept the children down the street.

“Pompous idiot. Don't know what Cissa sees in him,” Harry heard her mutter as they walked away.

 


	18. Platform 9 3/4

The first of September found Harry and Blaise scrambling for departure. Millie had been packed and ready for the start of term for days. She waited at the base of the stairs, scribbling away in a leather-bound notebook as Harry searched among his clothes for his practice snitch and Blaise called out anxiously for Ouroboros, the name he'd decided to give his snake. Mrs. Zabini waited at the base of the stairs next to Millie, the tapping of her foot the only sign of her mounting impatience. Finally, Harry found his snitch and Blaise had his snake wrapped around his wrist. Soon they were out the door, and Torsh was driving them with all speed toward the the train station.

Once arrived, they disembarked in a hurry. Traffic had been more troublesome than anticipated, and they knew they were cutting it close to the scheduled departure time. The Hogwarts Express was notoriously punctual, and Harry didn't want to miss it. Mrs. Zabini gave quick orders to Torsh to circle the street until she had seen off the children while Blaise and Harry rushed inside to grab trolleys for their luggage.

The three friends raced through the station in spite of Mrs. Zabini's assurances that they still had time to spare, and warnings not to roll over any muggles. They moderated their speed accordingly, but weren't above stepping on the backs of each others shoes, purposely trying to trip one another in a sort of game bent on winning their race through sabotage.

Millie proved to be particularly gifted at this competition, and after successfully pinning down the backs of Blaise and Harry's shoes to the point where they fell off, she reached the solid brick wall between platforms nine and ten first. Pausing only to turn and laugh at the sight of her friends sitting on the platform, pulling their trainers back on and cursing, she quickly dashed straight through the wall, unnoticed by any of the surrounding muggles.

“What are you two doing?” Mrs. Zabini asked, catching them up at her own leisurely pace. “Hurry up and get to the platform! The train won't wait for you.”

“Even if you are the famous Harry Potter,” Blaise whispered with a wink at his friend.

“Shut up,” Harry whispered back, though he couldn't help but smile.

The boys lined up their trolleys side by side, prepared to rush the entrance at the same time. Mrs. Zabini looked on as they proceeded at a run, gathering speed, drawing closer to the brick wall until

_CRASH!_

They struck the wall at a full sprint, the handlebars of their trolleys cutting into their stomachs before toppling over entirely. Hedwig's cage went rolling away as the owl screeched in terror, drawing whispers and disapproving looks from passerby. Mrs. Zabini ran to fetch the fallen cage and calm poor Hedwig before rushing back to her son, asking with worry if they were both alright.

“Yeah, fine,” said Blaise, rubbing his bruised stomach.

Harry stared at the wall between platforms in disbelief. “What happened?”

Mrs. Zabini put her hand against the red brick and gave it a push. Nothing happened. She was as incapable of passing through the wall as Harry or Blaise had been. She uttered a _tsk_ of irritation while Blaise and Harry stared.

“Perhaps they've locked it early?” she wondered aloud.

“But it isn't three yet!” Blaise protested, “And Millie was able to pass through before us with no problem!”

Mrs. Zabini frowned, glanced around at the surrounding muggles, and covertly removed her wand from her long coat to give the wall a few probing taps.

Blaise and Harry picked themselves up off the ground and gathered their things, disgruntled. Blaise nudged Harry in the side and whispered one word. “ _Dobby._ ”

Harry understood instantly, but he was incredulous at the idea that Malfoy would send his elf to harass him a second time. That is, until he remembered the encounter with Malfoy and his father in Diagon Alley. This stunt could be a petty act of retaliation. And yet it did seem odd that only Harry and Blaise were prevented from going on the platform while Millie passed through just fine. Hadn't she done more to insult the Malfoys than Harry had?

Mrs. Zabini ceased her tapping and stared up at the clock above their heads in frustration. Harry and Blaise looked up as well, their stomachs sinking as they realized the time of departure was already upon them. As the second hand moved its way past the twelve, they knew it was too late.

“That's it,” said Harry, feeling his stomach drop, “It's gone.”

“Wait, wait. That can't be it,” Blaise said, his panic rising, “Students must show up late all the time! There's got to be another way... Maybe we can fly our brooms! We've got them with us. We can just follow the train from the air and send for our luggage later...”

Harry was prepared to agree to this insane scheme, but Mrs. Zabini overheard them and was already shaking her head at Blaise's absurd idea.

“Don't be ridiculous. We'll just send and owl to Dumbledore and send you off to school tomorrow,” she said.

The practicality of this plan instantly broke over them, and they felt very silly for having entertained the thought of flying all the way to Hogwarts. Disappointed that they would have to wait another day, but nonetheless grateful that they had Mrs. Zabini's guidance, they walked their trolleys out the front of the station and packed their luggage back into the boot of the car.

Mrs. Zabini wasted no time in sending a letter to the headmaster as soon as they were home. Harry, though despondent, was still impressed by her bold gesture. If she really had sent that howler to Dumbledore earlier in the summer, it was rather presumptuous to be asking his assistance now. For a brief moment, Harry entertained the theory that it was Dumbledore, not Dobby, behind the trick of the brick wall, and that it was Dumbledore's way of expelling Blaise and Harry for Mrs. Zabini's impertinence.

Harry dismissed this idea as soon as it was formed. Dumbledore must get complaints form parents all the time. That was no reason to expel any student. No, it was definitely Dobby's doing that was causing him to miss out on the sorting and start of term feast. Harry was sorry that Blaise was being kept out of the fun on his account. Harry had no doubt that if he'd tried to pass through on his own, he'd be on the train with Millie right now, enjoying iced pumpkin juice and chocolate frogs from the kind witch who pushed the trolley.

In spite of Torsh's efforts to cheer them with a well-prepared meal, Harry and Blaise spent a very dull evening together. They tried to lift their spirits with a game of exploding snap, but even this failed to entertain for long. It was eventually decided that they would go to bed early, their disappointment making them fit for little else.

The following morning brought good news. Dumbledore had sent his response back by Mephistopheles faster than Mrs. Zabini expected, and only slightly slower than the boys had hoped. The letter arrived just as the family was sitting down to a light brunch, the boys having no appetite for more. Mrs. Zabini opened the letter while Blaise and Harry waited anxiously. They were relieved at the smile that spread over her features, and she was evidently pleased announce, “Good news. Dumbledore has approved a temporary passage to Hogwarts via Floo Powder. You'll be at school before the evening meal.”

Harry had no idea what Floo Powder was, but he immediately joined Blaise in pressing Mrs. Zabini to let them set off immediately. But Mrs. Zabini insisted that they complete their meal first, and the boys set to work on the food in front of them with gusto, their appetites infinitely improved on the prospect of soon being at school again.

Their plates were barely cleaned before they were begging to go once more. Harry assumed that whatever Floo Powder was, and however it was to be used, it would involve them getting into the car again, and driving to some yet unknown location before setting out, and he wanted to waste no time in getting to Hogwarts.

Blaise was more educated on the use of Floo Powder than Harry, and while he was no less eager to be among his schoolmates, he understood that their was less need for haste. He directed Harry to gather his things together, and suggested that he let Hedwig out of her cage to find her own way to Hogwarts. The flight would be no trouble, he was sure, and he wasn't certain the owl would enjoy travel through the fireplace.

Harry gave an involuntary start, certain he had misheard his friend. Did he say through the fireplace? Harry had visions of Father Christmas, and wondered if wizards had contrived some way of flying up the chimney and launching themselves to their destination, as ridiculous as that idea seemed. He was certain he'd prefer to take his broom.

His alarm mounted as he realized that it was no joke, and Blaise was in actuality leading him to the fireplace. Harry waited with trepidation as Mrs. Zabini lifted a small decorative jar from the mantelpiece and offered its contents to Blaise. Harry soon realized what he took to be merely a decoration was actually a receptacle for a strange glittering powder. Harry was instructed to pay attention, and Blaise, who had apparently traveled in his manner several times before, stepped forward to demonstrate the proper way of traveling by Floo Powder.

First, Mrs. Zabini lit a fire in the grate with a wave of her wand. The fire burned a natural yellow-orange, its heat slightly stifling in the late-summer heat. Blaise appeared not to mind, as he dipped his hand into the jar and pulled out a handful of the sand-like powder. He tossed the powder into the fire, which instantly turned a vibrant green, and its heat seemed somewhat diminished. Blaise stepped into the flames without hesitation. This was not Harry's first encounter with enchanted flames, and he was not surprised to see that Blaise was not instantly consumed by the fire. Blaise turned to face them, offered Harry a smile, shouted “Hogwarts!” and the flames leapt up, covering him completely in a blinding flash.

When the fire had calmed and resumed its natural orange glow, Blaise was nowhere to be seen. Harry looked at Mrs. Zabini expectantly, awaiting the explanation he was sure would come.

“You see, Harry. You have only to toss some of the powder into the flames, step into the fire, and clearly state the destination you want to go. You will come out at the nearest available fireplace to your destination.”

Harry took a handful of the soft powder and stared at the fire curiously.

“If it's that easy, why don't all the students travel to Hogwarts this way?” he asked aloud, “I'm sure there are enough fireplaces for everybody. I could come out right in the middle of the Slytherin common room!”

“Oh Harry, Dumbledore has made special arrangements for you. Hogwarts is usually closed off from the Floo Network.”

“But why?” Harry persisted, “Why it is cut off?”

“Well, for security reasons, of course. We don't want just anyone coming onto the grounds whenever they please.”

Harry was still curious. Why should a school for children require such strict security measures? But then he recalled that Blaise was waiting for him on the other side, and Harry tossed in his own handful of the powder, and stepped into the green flames.

He coughed in the warm, dry air, his throat irritated by the ash stirred up in the grate, but he managed to catch his breath and state clearly, “Hogwarts!” just as he'd seen Blaise do.

The flames climbed high, but Harry felt as if he was sinking down into a raging inferno. It seemed to him that he was rocketing through the center of the earth. Tears streaming from the corners of his eyes with the speed of his travel, he could barely make out the image of other fireplaces, acting as windows to rooms beyond, but it was far too fast for him to make out individual features.

It seemed to him that he was falling a very long time, and he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong, when all at once he fell out of the fire and flopped gracelessly onto a cold stone floor.

He had expected to arrive in Dumbledore's office, as it was the headmaster who had made these arrangements especially for them. And so it was with dismay that he lifted his head, and saw that he had landed in Professor Snape's office.

Professor Snape was easily his least favorite teacher. Though the head of Slytherin House, he had never shown Harry the same favor he bestowed on his other students. Harry had long suspected that the Potions Master hated him, and at the end of last year, Professor Snape had admitted as much himself. Still, he had come to Harry's rescue in the forbidden corridor, when Harry made a desperate effort to steal the Philosopher's Stone, only to come face to face (to face) with none other than Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry's parents eleven years before.

Harry lamented that he should owe anything to Professor Snape, but all the same, he might have died down in that chamber if not for Snape's interference. That thought alone prevented Harry from an outcry of pure horror upon seeing the professor seated behind his desk, glowering at Harry with open dislike.

“Well, well... So Harry Potter has finally decided to grace us with his presence. Was the train too pedestrian for you? Had to make a special entrance, no matter who it my be inconveniencing?”

Harry knew better than to engage him in this discourse. Instead, he looked about the room, expecting to see Blaise loitering around for Harry's arrival. But Blaise was no where to be found. Harry was only met with the sight of shelves filled with various dusty potion bottles and glass jars filled with all sorts of disgusting pickled potion ingredients.

“Where is Blaise?” Harry asked.

“I sent Mr. Zabini to the common room. Did you think he should wait for you?”

“We left together,” Harry said, unable to hide his irritation, “I see no reason why we shouldn't return together.”

Snape's wicked smile told Harry he'd given him exactly the opening he'd hoped for. Harry was forced to submit to more of his verbal assault.

“Do you always expect people to wait on you hand and foot? I see your fame has gone to your head. I should have expected as much. Not content with defeating the darkest wizard of our age, you have required new stunts to spread your fame.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Snape was clearly waiting for this opportunity. With a look of spiteful enjoyment, he slid a copy of the Daily Prophet in Harry's direction. Harry was not surprised to see his own face staring at him from the front page. He should have known Lockhart's prediction would come true. Harry was only grateful to realize that Mrs. Zabini, who was a regular Daily Prophet subscriber, had shielded this report from him and Blaise, no doubt sparing Harry the embarrassment.

After a moment's reflection, Harry stepped forward, plucked the quill from the ink well sitting atop Snape's desk, and signed his name next to his picture.

“If you wanted an autograph, you could have just said so,” Harry said brightly.

He took advantage of Snape's moment of silent outrage to beat a hasty retreat, and he was sprinting down the hall toward the Slytherin common room before Snape could call him back and take away house points for his cheek.

It wasn't until he reached the common room entrance that he realized he had no idea what the new password was. He stood outside the entrance appalled at his lack of foresight. He would rather spend the night in the hall than go back to Snape and ask for the password.

At that moment, the secret entrance swung open, revealing Blaise on the point of stepping out.

“Harry! Finally,” he said, pulling Harry through the entrance and into the common room, “How was Snape? I wanted to wait, but he told me I could go in a way that could not be refused.”

“I know,” said Harry with a sigh. “And I'm probably going to regret seeing him tomorrow.”

“Harry! Blaise! Where have you been?”

They turned toward the new voice, and saw Millie angrily stomping down the stairs from the girl's dormitories. She punched them both on the arm, causing them to stagger, and glared at them.

“You've been having adventures without me!” she accused.

“What? That's ridiculous!” Blaise protested.

Harry nodded his head in agreement, “We weren't on an adventure! We weren't even enjoying ourselves! We got stuck in the train station and had to wait a whole day before Dumbledore let us come to school!”

Millie didn't look entirely convinced. She crossed her arms and continued to scowl. “What are you talking about?”

“It's like Harry said. When we tried to pass through the wall to Platform 9 ¾, we couldn't get through. My mum tried it too, but it was locked or something. We missed the train and had to come by Floo Powder.”

“But why did the platform lock on you?”

“We have a theory, but it can wait. Have you got the new class schedules?”

Millie handed them each a folded piece of parchment from one of her cloak pockets.

“You'll be pleased,” she said, “We've got Lockhart first thing tomorrow, Harry.”

Harry groaned and examined the rest of their weekly schedule for the term. It looked like the second year Slytherin students would have double Herbology with Ravenclaw as well.

“Have our things arrived?” Harry asked, realizing for the first time that he wasn't sure what arrangements had been made for transporting their clothes and supplies to school.

“I haven't been up yet,” said Blaise, “We should check.”

Millie insisted that she go with them to discuss what she'd missed. Harry and Blaise, accustomed to sharing a room with her during their nightly sleepovers, saw no reason why she shouldn't come along, and they trooped up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Millie wanted to talk about what they suspected regarding the blocked station entrance, but Blaise and Harry insisted she fill them in on the sorting and start of term banquet. Harry regretted that he didn't get to witness the sorting ceremony this year. He was curious to see who the new first years would be, and if any of them experienced the same unfair sorting he had...

Millie's explanations were cut short as they opened the door to their dormitory, now with a shining plaque reading “Second Years.” Malfoy was seated cross-legged on his bed, holding court with his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, who jumped up and towered over the blond boy protectively at the sudden intrusion.

“Harry!” Malfoy said, his surprise evident.

“Surprised to see me, Draco?” Harry asked with scorn, “I suppose you thought with me out of the way, you'd have a better chance of getting on the Slytherin team?”

Draco shot a glance to Crabbe on his left, then to Goyle on his right. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said shiftily, unable to meet Harry's eye.

“Don't pretend like you don't know,” said Blaise, “That was a pretty slimy trick you pulled.”

“It's not a trick,” Malfoy said with his nose in the air, “My father...”

“You expect me to believe your father sent a house elf to steal my letters and block the platform entrance?” Harry retorted. “Don't make me laugh.”

Now Draco looked thoroughly confused.

“Elf?” he repeated, “Do you mean Dobby?”

Harry had to hand it to him, he was a good actor. Harry almost believed he didn't know what they were talking about.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” said Harry, “Play dumb all you want, but cut it out with the lame pranks. In fact, just say away from me.”

“We're in the same dorm. What do you expect me to do? Sleep in the common room?”

Harry didn't respond. He simply walked to his own four-poster bed, beckoned Blaise and Millie to join him, and closed the curtains to shield them from view.

“Oh sure, real mature, Potter.” Malfoy called from the other side. He was acknowledged by a fit of whispering about what a stupid git he was.

“Girls aren't supposed to be in our dorms!” He whined when it was evident they planned to ignore him.

Millie poked her hand between the gap in the curtains and made a rude gesture at him. And that was the end of that.

 


	19. Gilderoy Lockhart

Harry had a very strange encounter at the breakfast table the next morning. Many of his fellow Slytherins had been curious to hear where he and Blaise had been during the start of term ceremonies. Several students approached him soon after he had made his appearance in the common room, greeting him as an old friend in spite of the fact that Harry remembered very few of their names. Although Harry never spoke more than two words to any of them, it wasn't unusual for him to receive this much unwanted attention. He was, after all, “The Boy Who Lived.” Blaise told him not to worry, and seemed to enjoy being in the spotlight, particularly when his audience consisted of the older girls. Harry allowed him to make their excuses, knowing full well that Blaise would invent a story far more interesting than “we missed our train.”

But he would not be able to escape the notice of one particular student so easily.

It happened while Harry was tending to Hedwig. She arrived with the morning mail though she had nothing to deliver, and Harry was gently patting her feathers as a thank you for checking in when a small, skinny boy approached him. Harry could tell from the boy's uniform that he was in Slytherin, though it was his size and the way he trembled from head to foot with excitement that gave him away as a first year.

“Er, hi?” Harry said after the boy had stared at him in rapt amazement without saying a word for half a minute.

“Oh wow!” he finally exclaimed, as if awaiting this most meager sign of acknowledgment to release his elation. “It's you! I mean it's really, _really_ you!”

“Yup, I'm me all right,” Harry said, preparing to turn away. He didn't have time for fanboys.

Unluckily, the boy was undaunted, and Harry was forced to submit to a still-longer exchange when the boy thrust his hand forward and eagerly introduced himself.

“My name is Colin Creevy! It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Harry Potter!”

“You really don't have to call me mister,” Harry said. He accepted the hand offered to him, though he felt he would come to regret it later. He was painfully conscious of Blaise and Millie seated across from him, both snickering into plates of egg and sausage.

“I can't believe I'm actually talking to the real Harry Potter!” Creevy continued, exactly as if he hadn't heard a word of what Harry said, “I've heard all about you. They say you were raised by muggles! Me too! My dad's a milkman. Imagine his surprise when he found out I was accepted to a school for wizards! And there's so much to learn... Like, I just heard about you on the train, and about how you defeated you-know-who... _Do_ you know who? No one will tell me his name! Oh, but I know he was a bad wizard and all... And you just a baby! Can you imagine? Oh, of course you can! You were there! And then you killed that teacher last year, too. What was his name? Squirrel? Interesting name for a man, Squirrel... But then these magical folks all have interesting names, don't they? Like Dumbledore... Anyway, when I heard about the sorting, I really wanted to be in Gryffindor! But then someone said Harry Potter – that's you – had been sorted into Slytherin last year, and I thought I had to meet you and this might be the best way and so I asked the hat if I could be in Slytherin instead and it agreed! I must be the luckiest boy in the world! Anyway, can I take your picture?”

“W-What?” Harry stammered. Creevy talked so quickly and seemingly without the need to breathe, Harry couldn't quite understand what had just happened. About the only thing he understood for certain was that this boy actually asked to be in Slytherin. And because of Harry, evidently.

Harry directed his gaze to Blaise and Millie for support. “Why is this happening to me?”

“The hat hates you, I guess,” Millie whispered back.

Creevy had not witnessed this brief exchange. He was busy fiddling with a large, cumbersome camera around his neck.

“Dad said I should take lots of pictures, and my friend... Oh!” Colin seemed to remember something, and he turned away, sprinting down the length of the table. Harry sat in stunned silence, thinking Creevy had abandoned the conversation he'd forced on Harry in the first place. But Creevy was not gone for long. He simply ran to the end of the table, pulled another first year boy from his seat, and forcibly dragged him back to Harry with the strength of his determination alone, for the other boy was trying very hard to make his escape.

“This is my friend, Herbivorus Pandey, but you can call him Herb! He's the one who was telling me that if you develop the photos in a special potion, they'll _move_!”

“Get off me,” Pandey said with a cringing expression, “And I did not say you could call me _Herb_!”

“Oh, Herb! You're such a kidder!” Creevy said with a laugh, “Anyway, do you think you could take a picture of me and Harry Potter?”

Pandey's struggle to get away from Creevy came to a sudden halt. He stared at Harry, then his eyes traveled up to Harry's scar, and his mouth fell open.

Creevy took his stunned silence as agreement, and he began to hang his camera around Pandey's neck, all the while giving him instructions on how to take a photo. Harry was wondering how he could politely decline Creevy's request without crushing his spirit, when their bustle finally attracted the attention of Draco Malfoy and his group of goons.

“What's this?” he asked in a mocking tone. He'd been in a sour mood since early that morning when he found Blaise's snake in his bed. “Not content with the article in the Prophet, Potter? Have to take pictures with your many adoring fans now?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry warned. But Malfoy had only just begun.

“Next you'll be handing out autographed portraits, I suppose? How soon can we expect your autobiography?”

“Did somebody say autobiography?”

Gilderoy Lockhart sailed into view, wearing robes of palest lavender and smiling his bright, unnaturally white smile. Harry wanted to hide under the table, but he knew that would only draw more attention to himself. He settled for directing a glare at Malfoy, who seemed unable to contain his amusement as Lockhart rested his hand on Harry's shoulder in what Harry assumed was meant to be a fatherly gesture. He resented it immediately.

“Ah, Harry! I should have guessed!” Lockhart spied the camera in Creevy's hands and gave a jovial laugh. “Taking pictures, I see! Developed a taste for it after our meeting, I daresay.” He shook his head from side to side sadly and continued, “Harry, Harry, Harry... I suppose you do have _some_ fame, but you must try not to let this go to your head. After all, the first years may idolize you, but you have a long way to go before considering an autobiography. You're only ten years old, after all. Plenty more for you to experience!”

“Actually, Professor,” Blaise said, quickly coming to Harry's rescue, “We were just discussing your memoirs. My mum has been writing me, and she says it's a magnificent book. When she's finished, she'll be sending it straight to me.”

“Ah yes! I thought you seemed familiar. Young master Zabini isn't it?” Lockhart asked, disengaging his hand from Harry's shoulder to shake with Blaise. “And how is Mrs. Zabini? So glad to hear she's enjoying _Magical Me_.”

“She's fine,” Blaise said with a slight cringe. Harry knew he'd owe him for this interference later. Reminding Lockhart of his mother was clearly not something Blaise would do for just anyone.

Lockhart seemed to recall himself, and added as an afterthought, “And Mr. Zabini? He's doing well, I trust?”

“My father is dead,” Blaise said flatly.

“Oh really? So sorry about that, my condolences,” said Lockhart. His tone was contrite, but his smile told a different story. He was even bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, obviously elated to hear that the subject of their discussion was single.

“Terrible thing, a boy your age not to have a man around the house... no father figure,” Lockhart said musingly.

“Oh, I've had plenty of those,” said Blaise, “The last one disappeared without a trace. He's presumed dead.”

He clearly meant to frighten Lockhart off his mother's scent, but the distraction didn't hold. Lockhart was still lost in his own musings, no doubt expecting that he would be as fabulous as a husband and father as he believed himself to be at everything else.

“Well, my boy, if you ever have anything you need to, you know, discuss with an older, wiser, more attractive male figure, feel free to come by my office any time! The same to you, Harry. I think the two of us can be very good friends!”

He sashayed away. Fortunately, he took young Creevy and Pandey with him, enticing Creevy with the promise of an autographed portrait of himself. Harry and Blaise were left to suffer the pangs of embarrassment he left in his wake.

“More attractive?” Blaise gasped in outrage, “He must be joking!”

“You are a twelve-year-old boy, Blaise,” said Millie, “There's not much competition between you.”

“Oh, and I suppose you're like every other girl here, going ga-ga for Gilderoy? Classes haven't even started yet, and everyone is already losing their minds over him!”

“I am not _ga-ga_ for Gilderoy!” Millie said indignantly. Her threatening look was not to be argued with, and Blaise dropped that line of thought instantly. Instead, he sank back into the seat of his chair, and looked at Harry with a dismal expression.

“We have class with him today, don't we?” he asked.

“'Fraid so,” Harry replied, checking over his schedule again, “But on the positive side, we won't have potions until later this week.”

He hazarded a glance at the teacher's table, but Snape had not arrived for the morning meal. Harry was glad for it. He knew that eventually he'd have to pay for his attitude the night before. It was only a matter of time. If he was lucky, Lockhart wouldn't hear that Harry had signed an autograph for a teacher.

Breakfast having been spoiled by their encounter with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, they decided to clean up and prepare for their first class of the day, double Herbology with the Ravenclaws. Harry trooped down to the greenhouses with his friends and the other second-year Slytherin students. He was painfully aware of Malfoy and his crew doggedly pursuing them, but he couldn't very well tell him to leave when they were headed to the same class, so he ignored them as best as he could, even when Malfoy began recounting the episode with Creevy that morning.

“He said he wanted to be in _Gryffindor_?” Harry heard the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson exclaim, “Well why doesn't he just go join them, then? Why should we have to put up with him?”

“I suppose Perfect Harry Potter must have his fans,” Mafloy drawled, “Do you know he's already writing his memoirs? If he's lucky, Lockhart will write the introduction...”

“Ignore them, ignore them...” Harry chanted to himself. He marched straight toward the back table in the farthest corner of the greenhouse. The raised wooden tables were arranged for sets of four to work together, and Harry directed his feet to a place where a lone Ravenclaw boy was already sitting.

“Hi. Care if we join you?” Harry said, not bothering to wait for a response before taking a seat. Millie and Blaise filled the other two spots. Malfoy predictably took the table right next to their group, but at least Harry avoided the possibility of him trying to join their party.

“Oh, um... Hello!” said the Ravenclaw boy with some embarrassment. Harry saw his gaze flicker toward his scar, as most people's inevitably did on meeting him, but at least he had the decency to look away again quickly. Harry saw his lips move as he mouthed something incoherent to himself. When he looked up again it was to look into Harry's eyes.

“I'm Ned Willowby!” he said brightly, stretching his hand across the table to shake with Harry, though the resulting position was a bit awkward for both, and they only manged to grip the tips of each of their fingers.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry politely, though he knew that Willowby already knew who he was.

He introduced Blaise and Millie, as well. Blaise was prepared to be friendly, though Millie gave Willowby nothing more than a nod, and directed her attention to the front of the class, where Professor Sprout had just come in and was presiding over several rows of potted plants positioned at the front of the greenhouse.

“Alright, everyone! That's enough chatter!” Professor Sprout said. For such a small, round woman, she had a very loud voice.

“Welcome to another year of Herbology!” she said with a smile as wide as Gilderoy Lockhart's, but filled with more genuine feeling. “As part of your curriculum for second year, we'll be dealing with a few of the more dangerous varieties of magical plants, so I hope you've come with the required safety equipment!”

“Think we'll be seeing more of the Devil's Snare?” Blaise whispered to Harry.

“If so, we should have brought safety goggles. All those wand flares are going to be blinding,” Harry whispered back.

But the Devil's Snare was apparently still considered above the second year's capabilities. Instead, Professor Sprout instructed someone from each group to collect a potted plant and set of earmuffs for each table.

“That's you, boo-boo,” Blaise said, directing his wand at Willowby lazily.

Willowby colored slightly and obediently ran to the front of class to collect the supplies. He returned with two pots, one empty and one containing one of the dark, leafy plants, and four pairs of earmuffs.

Blaise looked disdainfully at a pair of pink, fluffy ones. “What is that?”

“Sorry,” Willowby said, his eyes on the wand Blaise continued to toy with between his fingers, “All the others were taken.”

“Then guess who will be wearing those?” Blaise asked as he took a dull brown pair from the pile for himself.

Willowby looked hopefully at Millie, but she had already grabbed a plain white pair.

“Me... I suppose...” he then said.

“Blaise, we're not in charms, put your wand away,” Harry said. He then turned to Willowby and offered him an encouraging grin, “Don't mind him. That's just his way of playing around. I'll take the pink ones, if you don't want them.”

But Ned insisted that no, no. He did want the pink ones. Pink was actually his favorite color, so he didn't mind at all. And he snatched up the pink pair before Harry could have a chance. Harry shrugged, and snatched up the final pair.

“Everyone have a pair of earmuffs? Good! Mr. Goyle... Mr. Goyle! Kindly remove yours so that you might hear my instruction before we begin? Thank you. Ms. Morningside, please refrain from tickling your plant. Alright, can I begin? Excellent. The plant you see before you is called Mandrake, or Mandragora. It may look harmless now, but I assure you they can be very dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?”

Harry gave his plant a suspicious look, and leaned away from it cautiously. He'd never heard of a mandrake before, but he had enough experience with dangerous plants last year to not be very keen on getting close to one again.

“Blaise?” Harry asked, but his friend shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he hadn't a clue.

Finally, a Ravenclaw girl near the front of the class raised her hand timidly.

“It's the root of the plant, isn't it?” she suggested, “They're said to grow at the base of a gallows, and their cry is lethal to those who hear it.”

“Very good on two points, Miss Patil. But the bit about the gallows is just some muggle superstition. Now, the mandrake plants we have today are in their infancy, and thus their cry won't kill you. It might knock you out for a few hours, though, so make sure you have your earmuffs on tight!”

Harry wondered what she meant by a mandrake's “cry” as he copied the rest of the class and covered his ears. Professor Sprout waited until she had everyone's attention again, then she performed a short demonstration for the class. She gripped the base of the leafy plant firmly, and yanked it out of the dirt. Harry gasped as he saw the root of the plant. It appeared to be a dirty, squirming, wailing baby. Fortunately, the earmuffs appeared to be enchanted, as Harry couldn't hear a single sound. He knew the strange baby was crying, however, from the perfect O its mouth made as it screwed up its face in indignation. Professor Sprout gave them all a moment to appreciate this gruesome sight, then she plopped the mandrake root into an empty pot, dumping fresh soil over the top and patting it down firmly. She signaled to the class that it was safe to remove their earmuffs, and was soon giving them instructions on how they were to re-pot their own mandrakes.

“Did you see its feet?” Blaise asked with a touch of morbid glee, “The toes were all twisty and gnarled, like a root!”

“The mandrake is a root,” said Willowby, “I know it looks like a little person, but that's just a defense mechanism the plant adapted to avoid being harvested.”

Blaise and Millie stared at Willowby, who blushed at the attention he attracted and put his head down. Then Blaise said, “Oh right, Ravenclaw,” which appeared to resolve the moment of awkwardness. He began quizzing Willowby on other things he knew about mandrakes.

“I don't know much, actually,” Willowby admitted, “But I came across information on mandrakes when I was reading up on potions. Apparently, they're really good for curing people under enchantments.”

Earmuffs in place, they dug into their assignment. Willowby had managed to pick a particularly fat mandrake, who was difficult not only to dislodge from its pot, but seemed to resent begin squashed into the new one. It cried in indignation at being removed from its dirt bed, but absolutely refused to be consoled by the new home, and struggled in Harry's hands, trying to escape back to the pot from whence it came. Blaise, Harry, and Ned combined forces to try to subdue the screaming creature, until Millie suggested they simply ask for a larger pot. One was supplied in due course, and they put the chubby plant baby comfortably inside and dumped the dirt over its head.

They were not the only ones to struggle with the assignment. Draco Malfoy had lost his grip on his mandrake entirely, and the little creature spent five whole minutes frolicking around the classroom, slipping around on its root legs and wailing the whole time. Professor Sprout had to corral the thing with a well-aimed spell, which sent it shooting into the pot. Goyle and Pansy Parkinson then frantically dumped the dirt over its head, trying to keep it from escaping.

Willowby joined Harry and his friends in laughing at the spectacle, though they had not fared much better. At the end of class, tired and covered in soil, they traipsed across the grounds back toward the castle. Their mutual experience and joint effort caused the awkwardness of initial meeting to fade away, and Willowby hung back from the other Ravenclaw students to talk with Harry, Blaise, and Millie some more. He eagerly joined Blaise and Harry in their abuse of Gilderoy Lockhart, but was unable to sympathize with them about the latest racing broom.

“My parents are muggles,” he explained, “I tried to explain to them about Quidditch, but my mum nearly fainted from the thought. She didn't even want me playing rugby with the neighborhood kids.”

“What's rugby?” Blaise asked curiously.

“I'll explain later,” Harry assured him, though truthfully, he'd never been sure of the rules himself. All he knew was what he picked up listening in whenever Vernon and Dudley watched a game on the telly.

Instead of getting deep into the nuances of muggle sports, Harry offered Ned a chance to try his Nimbus 2000 sometime. He'd brought his broomstick to school for the first time, and would be using it to try out for the Quidditch team, but he didn't mind sharing with his new friend.

Willowby was excited by the prospect. He hadn't been on the back of a broom since flying lessons ended last year. He thanked Harry, and promised he would take him up on his offer at the earliest opportunity. They parted ways at the moving staircases. The Ravenclaw students were heading down to the dungeons for potions class, while the Slytherin students enjoyed a break before lunch.

“He seems nice,” Blaise said as Willowby hurried down the stairs after his classmates. “Shame about the muggle parents, though.”

“What's so bad about having muggle parents?” asked Harry.

“Come on, Harry. After the way your muggle relatives treated you? They just can't understand magic. That's all.”

Harry didn't think all muggles were like the Dursleys, but then, he'd never had a chance to meet many people outside the Dursley's friends and Vernon's relatives. Even when they did have guests over, Harry had usually been sent to the cupboard under the stairs, or more recently, his locked room. Harry didn't want to argue over the matter with Blaise, however, so he merely agreed that Ned did seem like a nice kid.

His encounter with the Ravenclaw student made him wonder why he'd mixed so infrequently with students from the other houses, and he briefly entertained the notion of trying to befriend students outside Slytherin House. But he abandoned the idea after he tried giving a friendly smile to a couple Gryffindor girls who they passed in the hall. They both stuck their noses in the air and hurried away, pretending they hadn't noticed him, all the while muttering about "nasty Slytherins." 


	20. Hissing and Whispers

Harry woke early Saturday morning. He had been too excited to get much sleep the night before. After all, today was the day of Slytherin's Quidditch team try-outs. Since Terrence Higgs graduated the year before, there was only one vacancy - Seeker – the position Harry was most eager to play. He pulled on his clothes in the dark, then crept over to Blaise's bed, shaking him awake.

“Huh? What's the matter?” Blaise asked after waking with a jerk.

“Shh!” said Harry, covering Blaise's mouth and nodding toward Malfoy's bed. He knew Malfoy wouldn't miss an opportunity to vie for the same position, and Harry didn't want to spoil his head-start by waking him.

“Breakfast...” Harry mouthed silently. Blaise tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but Harry began pulling at his blankets, exposing him to the chill air and waking him up entirely. Blaise shot Harry a dirty glare, but kept his complaints to himself as he crawled out of bed and tugged on a pair of thick socks.

They didn't speak until they were already in the common room. In spite of the early hour, Harry was surprised to see Millie already awake, seated in one of the armchairs and scribbling in a notebook by the light of the dying fire.

Blaise pointed his wand at the embers and muttered a spell. The flames jumped back to life and Millie lifted her head to them in greeting.

“All right, Millie?” asked Harry, “Couldn't sleep either?”

“Are you kidding? I've been up all night!” Millie said, stretching her arms far above her head and standing from the chair, “It's today, isn't it? Quidditch try-outs?”

Harry had his broom in hand and showed Millie. Blaise had his own broom resting against his shoulder. He gave a wide yawn as Harry explained, “I figured I'd get a quick warm-up before breakfast. You know, just for an extra edge on the competition.”

Millie, without anything else to occupy her morning, accompanied Harry and Blaise down to the Quidditch pitch. The sun was barely above the horizon, and their feet were getting soaked by the dew still clinging to the grass. Harry was grateful for his warm sweater and coat as his breath frosted the chill morning air. Blaise complained the entire walk down, saying that Harry was lucky he liked him so much. Harry assured him he'd feel differently once they were airborne.

He was right. Blaise's complaints melted away as he and Harry took to the sky. Under the same impulse of sudden joy, they both gave a whoop of laughter and raced each other around the pitch two or three times just for fun. Harry was pleased to see that although they had the same model of broomstick, he was still the faster flier. Feeling confident in himself, he drew from his pocket the practice snitch Blaise had given him last Christmas, and they began to race in earnest. Blaise managed to get the better of Harry at spying the snitch first, and caught it once himself. But Harry was able to beat him in four out of five trial runs, and his confidence grew, especially after he managed a particularly difficult catch using a move he'd read about in _Quidditch Quarterly_.

They returned to the Great Hall in good spirits just as the first early-risers began to trickle in for breakfast. Harry spotted Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin team, seated by himself at the long dining table. He was reading over the Daily Prophet and eating a large helping of pancakes. Harry waved away Blaise and Millie, saying they could get started without him, and he walked to Flint with every intention of schmoozing before the try-outs.

“Morning, Flint,” Harry said by way of greeting, hoping that he seemed like a friendly, dependable sort of person you would want on your Quidditch team.

Flint flicked his eyes up from the paper, giving Harry a once-over. Harry had never actually spoken to the Quidditch captain before. He was a very tall, ogre-ish looking boy with sallow, pockmarked skin and a uni-brow. He was not the sort of person Harry would ever willingly talk to, but he needed to make nice with him now if he had any hopes of getting on the team. Harry tried not to let Flint's semi-permanent scowl intimidate him. He reminded himself that Millie wasn't very good-looking either, but she was one of his best friends. Perhaps Flint would exceed expectations.

“Potter,” Flint grunted, immediately returning to his paper.

This was not a very promising start, but Harry mustered his courage and asked, “Er... Quidditch trials are today, aren't they? When should I report to the pitch?”

“Quidditch trials?” Flint asked, his attention drawn away from the paper again as he gave Harry a closer look.

“Er... yes,” Harry said. He was finding Flint very difficult to read. “There's an opening for Seeker, isn't there? I'd like to try out for the position.”

Flint set his paper aside entirely. Harry took this as a good sign and submitted patiently to the critical examination Flint was giving him.

“Well, you've certainly got the build of a Seeker,” he said after what seemed like forever, “Have you ever flown before?”

“Yes,” Harry replied instantly, though he neglected to mention that he'd never played a real game of Quidditch. “I'm fast, too. I once caught a flying key bewitched by Professor Flitwick. That was last year, in the third floor corridor.”

Harry still couldn't read Flint's expression, but he hoped to impress. The whole school knew enough about Harry's adventures in the forbidden corridor last year. Harry hoped the reminder of his exploits during his first year would bolster his favor with Flint.

“What sort of broom do you ride?” Flint asked.

“A Nimbus 2000,” said Harry proudly.

Flint sucked his teeth, making a wet, clicking sound.

“Sorry, Potter,” Flint said to Harry's disappointment, “The position has already been filled.”

Harry's stomach dropped, and he couldn't stop himself from exclaiming, “ _By who_?”

Flint had the decency to look a little ashamed as he replied, “Lucius Malfoy just made a generous donation to the team. We'll all be riding Nimbus 2001s.”

“So his son could be Seeker, is that right?”

“Sorry,” Flint said again, shrugging his shoulders.

“But Malfoy can't fly like I can,” Harry said bitterly, though he hadn't seen Malfoy on the back of a broom since their flying lessons last year. “You can't _buy_ real talent!”

Flint picked up his paper again. “I believe you, Potter. But I have to think of the team, not just one player. We're stronger as a unit with top-of-the-line racing brooms. Of course, if it really bothers you, you can join the reserve team.”

“Forget it,” said Harry. He would rather remain a spectator than take second-best to Draco Malfoy. He stalked away from Flint without another word, and he could hear the older boy chuckling behind him, obviously taking amusement from Harry's frustration. Harry felt as if he hated him, and tried to console himself with the thought that it was better not to be on a team managed but such a morally despicable captain. But his disappointment was too great, and it was with very heavy feelings that he sank into his seat next to Blaise and Millie.

His friends could read his expression easily, and knew right away that something was wrong. Harry explained in a few words that Malfoy had bought his way onto the team. His friend's abuse of Draco was loud and enthusiastic, reaching its pitch just as the villain himself appeared. Draco had taken his time coming down for breakfast, knowing full well that no morning warm-up would be necessary for him. His position on the team was already secured. He shot Harry a complacent smirk as he settled next to Flint and the other members of the Slytherin team, who were all devouring a hearty breakfast before preparing for their first practice.

“Come on, let's get out of here, Harry,” Blaise said, seeing the dark expression on Harry's face as he watched Malfoy with envy, “We'll go visit Hagrid! That'll cheer you up. And I've been wanting to show him Ouroboros. I just know he'll love him.”

“Alright,” Harry said, getting to his feet and following his friends out of the hall with little enthusiasm. His plans for the day being ruined, he felt as if he didn't have much energy for anything else, and he was willing to follow whatever suggestion the others had.

They stalked across the grounds toward Hagrid's cabin near the edge of the forbidden forest. As the small hut came into view, Blaise suddenly stopped in his tracks and uttered an “Oh no!”

He turned toward Harry and asked, “Did you bring the cloak?”

“No,” Harry replied. Blaise was referring to the invisibility cloak that had been Harry's fathers. Harry had taken to carrying it with him everywhere during their schemes of last year, but since the start of their second year at Hogwarts, Harry hadn't seen much need for the interesting item, and it remained safety tucked away in his trunk.

“Damn,” Blaise cursed. He cast his eyes around their immediate vicinity and quickly pulled Harry and Millie behind a large hedge nearby.

Harry was about to ask why they were hiding in a bush when the answer walked up the path toward them. Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in mauve robes today, glided toward them, whistling to himself absent-mindedly. Harry didn't blame Blaise for wanting to hide. Over the past week, Lockhart had never missed an opportunity to ask Blaise about his mother. Harry was always included in these little exchanges, as Lockhart never forgot to give Harry “a friendly word of advice” for the day when Harry became as famous as him.

Fortunately, Lockhart hadn't spied their quick dash behind the hedge, and they successfully avoided another painful conversation with him.

“He must be coming from Hagrid's cabin,” Millie observed, “What do you suppose he wanted there?”

“Let's find out,” Harry said, crawling out from behind the bush. He was still feeling his Quidditch disappointment, but his curiosity was peaked by this near run-in with Lockhart, so close to Hagrid's home. He and his friends jogged the rest of the way to the cabin and knocked loudly at the door.

They heard Hagrid's heavy footfalls cross the room quickly, and he swung open the door with a scowl on his face. His expression quickly changed upon seeing the three guests on his doorstep. A smile spread over his ruddy features, and he beckoned them all inside with a friendly greeting.

“Thought yeh was someone else fer a moment,” Hagrid said as he pulled out a fresh batch of treacle tart and served it to them.

“We saw,” said Harry, “What was Lockhart doing here?

“Tryin' ter tell me how ter do my ruddy job,” Hagrid growled, “As if I don' know how ter get a Kelpie out of a well! Finally left when I told him I'd never read any of his books, and never would. But what are yeh three doin' here? I'da thought yeh'd be at the try-outs, Harry.”

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it yet, but with Blaise and Millie pressuring him he felt he couldn't long refuse.

After his explanation, Hagrid's indignation was great.

“Ought to be against the rules!” he thundered, “A student buying 'is way onter the team! An' Harry is a much better flier than that puny Malfoy kid.”

Hagrid had never once seen Harry fly, but Harry appreciated his support all the same.

“Come on,” Hagrid said suddenly, “I got summat ter show yeh. Might cheer yeh up.”

Harry and the others rose to follow Hagrid, who let them out of his hut and around the back. Harry was surprised to see a patch of pumpkins. Most were still very green, but they were all swollen to nearly twice the size of a regular, full-grown pumpkin.

“Been growin' em for the Fall feast,” Hagrid said proudly, “What deh yeh think?”

“They're great, Hagrid!” said Harry. Strangely, the sight of the overgrown pumpkins did cheer him a little, and the thought of the upcoming Halloween feast gave him something new to look forward to. “What are you feeding to them?”

“Oh, I mighta given 'em a little help,” Hagrid said modestly. Harry knew better than to pry, but his thoughts were transported to Hagrid's flowery pink umbrella. Hagrid wasn't allowed to do magic. He'd told Harry as much last year. But Harry had also seen Hagrid use his old umbrella to light a fire and give Dudley a pig tail. He suspected the broken pieces of Hagrid's old wand were hidden within the handle of his umbrella, though he'd never even told his friends as much.

“How much bigger do you think they'll grow?” asked Millie, giving one of the nearest pumpkins an affectionate pat.

“Not sure,” Hagrid said. The portion of his face not covered in beard wrinkled in thought, “I just hope they'll be matured by Halloween.”

They trooped back inside, and Blaise suddenly remembered what brought him to Hagrid's in the first place.

“Hagrid!” he exclaimed, his hand diving into the pocket of his robes. “I have something to show you, too!”

He withdrew his hand, revealing Ouroboros the python, who had curled itself around Blaise's fingers and was staring at them all sleepily.

“Why, isn't he a beaut?” Hagrid said. He crouched lower so as to get a better look at the snake, “It's a Noose Python, innit? They're very rare! Have a bit ova bad reputation, but it's all nonsense. Friendliest little companions a wizard could have!”

“His name is Ouroboros,” Blaise said proudly.

“Fine little guy,” Hagrid stated.

Harry reached his finger toward the snake and tickled it fondly under its chin. “Actually, she's a girl,” he clarified.

“What?” said Blaise, aghast.

“How dye know, Harry?” asked Hagrid.

“Because she told me,” Harry explained.

“Harry!” Blaise whined, “Why didn't you say anything? I've been calling her Ouroboros for weeks! I should have given her something more feminine!”

“I don't think she minds being called Oro... O-rob-o... Forget it. I'm calling her Noodle, anyway. She really doesn't seem to mind what she's called.”

“Still, I think you could have mentioned it.”

Harry shrugged, and turned to Hagrid to get his opinion, when he noticed the stunned look on Hagrid's face.

“What's the matter, Hagrid.”

“Harry... Yeh can understand snakes?”

“Oh sure!” Harry said. “And I can talk to them, too.”

“He's a parselmouth,” said Millie, “Harry's even promised to give us lessons.”

“Yeah, watch.”

Harry turned to the python and stared into her beady black eyes. The snake stared back and Harry heard its hissing voice murmur, _Who's the big guy?_

 _“His name is Hagrid,”_ Harry hissed back, though of course to him it sounded as if he were talking normally. “ _He's a friend. Can you wave to him?”_

_Wave? How?_

_“Just flick your tail at him a little. Like a greeting.”_

The python turned its head toward Hagrid, uncurled the end of its tail from Blaise's wrist, and waggled it at Hagrid.

“Pretty cool, right, Hagrid?”

But Hagrid didn't look convinced.

“I dunno,” he said, “It gives me a funny feeling. How long have you been able to do this, Harry?”

“Forever, I guess,” said Harry. He explained to Hagrid in a few words how he'd once spoken to a snake at the zoo, but hadn't thought anything about it until he met Ouroboros in the pet shop.

“It seems funny is all. ” Hagrid repeated. “Might give people the wrong impression if you three are sittin' around hissin' at each other. If I were you, I'd keep it to myself for now.”

He was clearly unsettled. Harry felt a little hurt by his cautious attitude. His friends had made it seem like being a parselmouth was a cool talent to have. It was something that made him unique that had nothing to do with his scar or his parent's deaths. The fact that Hagrid was treating it like something shameful made him feel disappointed in himself.

But Harry didn't want to fight with Hagrid on their first visit of the new term, so he willingly followed along with Blaise's change of subject, and he and Hagrid parted on good terms as the dinner hour approached.

Harry had managed to forget his troubles in Hagrid's cabin, but the disaster of the morning quickly came back to bite him during dinner. Malfoy sat among his new teammates, gloating over his new popularity while the upperclassmen gushed about how fast their brooms could go, and the looks on the Gryffindor team's faces when they saw their new broomsticks.

Harry did his best to ignore them, but unfortunately, Colin Creevy sat close to Harry's side. He was quick to commiserate with Harry, but he seemed more disappointed that he'd lost an opportunity to take pictures of Harry on his broom. He offered to take some shots anyway, should Harry ever want to practice with Blaise, and even mentioned that he was in the process of developing some photos he already took, and would Harry please sign them when they were done?

Harry couldn't remember ever posing for any shots for Colin, and he was struck with a feeling that the scrawny first year had been taking pictures of him behind his back. Colin's morose companion was sitting by his side, seemingly against his inclination, and he tried his best to quell Colin's enthusiasm, perhaps seeing the dark look on Harry's face. But there was no stopping Colin, who was loud in his support of Harry, which was starting to draw looks from Malfoy's end of the table.

“Come on,” said Harry, leaving his meal unfinished, “I think I'm ready to turn in.”

Millie and Blaise, though they'd hardly touched their food themselves, immediately rose to accompany him. Colin started to scrabble to his feet as well, but Pandey had the sense to hold him back and allow Harry to make his escape.

“Can you believe that Creevy kid?” Blaise exclaimed as soon as they were in the hall, “More like _Creepy_. Can't he take a hint?”

“Leave him alone,” Harry commanded. Colin was annoying, but he wasn't the problem, and Harry wasn't in the mood to put someone else down to make himself feel better. Right now, all he wanted to do was return to their dormitory and play some sort of cruel prank on Malfoy for him to find on his return.

They were rounding the corner to the stairs that led to their dormitories when Harry heard it. It was faint, barely audible, but he thought he heard a whisper. He halted in his tracks. Blaise and Millie walked right past him in the middle of their own conversation. They stopped and turned back to him.

“Harry, what is it?” Millie asked.

Harry shushed her and made a sign to show he was listening for something. His two friends fell silent, waiting, then Harry heard it again, more clearly this time.

_Rip... Tear..._

_“_ Did you hear that?” asked Harry. Blaise and Millie looked at each other and shrugged. Blaise opened his mouth as if to say something, when Harry waved for silence again.

_Have to hunt... Have to kill..._

_“_ I hear someone whispering,” Harry said, his own voice barely above a whisper, “You mean you really can't hear it?”

“We don't hear anything, Harry,” Blaise replied. Millie nodded in agreement.

“It says it wants to kill...” Harry said fearfully. Perhaps it was only in his imagination, but he couldn't understand why his mind would invent something so terrifying.

Blaise and Millie looked scared as well, and they began to scan the shadows, wondering if there was someone hidden nearby, muttering quiet curses to themselves.

“It's probably just your imagination,” Blaise said, though he hardly sounded convinced himself. “Come on. Let's just get to the common room.”

He began walking down the stairs. Harry followed, somewhat reluctantly, into the cool gloom below, thinking that he'd never more regretted sleeping in the dungeons.

 


	21. Halloween, Again

Weeks after that fateful Saturday, Harry was still bitter about Draco's hostile takeover of the Quidditch team. His friends did their best to cheer him up. They pointed out the size of Hagrid's pumpkins, now swelled to the size of Hagrid himself, and talked with enthusiasm about the live bats that were sure to be fluttering around the Great Hall during the Halloween feast. Perhaps their efforts would have worked, had not Harry been forced to live in close quarters with his most hated rival.

Draco seemed to think that the envy of Harry Potter was something to be valued, and he took every opportunity to rub his victory in Harry's face. He loudly discussed his practices with Crabbe and Goyle every time Harry was within earshot, and more than once Harry walked into the dormitory to see Malfoy seated cross-legged on his bed, polishing the handle of his Nimbus 2001 as if he were posing for _Quidditch Quarterly_. Harry often considered hexing the broom, but his string of petty pranks on Malfoy always stopped just short of doing any real harm. He contented himself with substituting Draco's broom polish with a sticking concoction developed by Blaise. While it was amusing to watch Draco walk to the hospital wing, his hands stubbornly fixed to his broom, it did nothing to make up for the fact that Harry would have to sit out of playing for the team at least another year.

“It'll be fine,” Blaise told Harry as they waited near the entrance of the Great Hall for Millie to arrive, “Flint's bound to see how awful Draco is when they face Gryffindor. I'll bet Slytherin won't win a single match, and it'll probably cost us the House Cup, too. This time next year, Flint will be begging you to join the team. Draco can't buy his way on two years in a row.”

Harry wasn't convinced. All Draco needed was the release of the Nimbus 2002, or something like it, and Harry had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy could afford another set of brand new racing brooms. If it meant making his family look good, he was sure there was no low to which Malfoy Sr. would not stoop.

As Harry pondered this depressing thought, Millie finally appeared. She had a sour look on her face to match Harry's own spoiled mood, and Harry could soon see why. The hem of her robes was completely soaked, and as she drew closer, he could hear her socks squelching in her shoes.

“What happened to you?” Harry asked, secretly thankful that the misfortune of someone else could momentarily distract him from his own problems.

“Moaning Myrtle,” Millie replied darkly.

“Who?” asked Blaise.

Millie jerked her head toward the doors, signaling for them to proceed to their usual spot at the dining table while she explained, “Moaning Myrtle is the ghost that haunts the girls lavatory on the first floor. I try to avoid it when I can, but I thought it would be safe today. It being Halloween and all, a lot of ghosts are headed to the dungeons for some sort of party.”

“So what happened?” Harry asked. He'd never heard of Moaning Myrtle, and was curious about what sort of ghost she was. Their own house ghost, the Bloody Baron, was a quiet, eerie sort of specter that even the Peeves the Poltergiest seemed to fear, and Harry had never dared attempt a chat with him. Based on the epithet given to Myrtle, Harry assumed she had more in common with the Baron than a more cheerful ghost, like the friar of Hufflepuff house.

“She flooded the place,” Millie remarked in exasperation. “She's always doing it. Things were fine for a moment, then I suddenly hear her swooping up one of the pipes in another stall, wailing like the world is coming to an end, and suddenly all the faucets are running full blast, and the toilets are spilling over, and I barely made it out with my bum dry.”

Blaise gave a mock shudder, “Some haunting. Lucky she didn't appear in your toilet, eh?”

Millie rolled her eyes in response. “Can we talk about something else? Myrtle's temper tantrums aren't something that are particularly pleasant to revisit.”

But to Harry and Blaise's twelve-year-old minds, a ghost haunting a loo was the funniest thing they'd heard all term. They kept at it, harassing Millie for descriptions of the ghost and all the gruesome details of how she died.

“I didn't ask,” said Millie tersely to this last question.

But Harry and Blaise weren't to be deterred. They thought it was an appropriate topic, given the holiday and the festive atmosphere of the Great Hall, what with Hagrid's overly large pumpkins hollowed out into jack-o-lanterns and the bats flying overhead. They were having too much fun, each taking turns to invent some plausible reason for the young witch to have met her end. Harry joked that any one of their scenarios could be possible, given that only last year a dangerous three-headed dog was permitted to guard the third floor corridor from intruders, and last Halloween a gigantic troll had nearly killed two Gryffindor students. Harry thought it entirely plausible that poor Myrtle met her end in a tragic encounter with one of the beasts that seemed to be forever invading the school. Blaise suggested a beauty charm gone horribly awry, while Millie thought that the ghost was so annoying that they couldn't rule out foul play.

As Harry roared with laughter at Millie's impression of one of Moaning Myrtle's tantrums, he suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He cast his eyes up and down the table casually, and found not one, but two spies peering at him. To no ones surprise, it was the usual suspects. On his right, Colin Creevy sat with a small cluster of first-years, gazing at Harry in admiration, and looking very much like he was waiting for an opening to muscle in on their conversation. To the left, Draco Malfoy was staring at their group, probably outraged that Harry could still manage to have fun when he should be pining over the Seeker position. Harry tried to ignore them both, but he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them made their move. The question was, who would be first?

Harry didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of known that Harry noticed him, so he cast his eyes to the right. Unfortunately, this was the opening Colin had been waiting for. After Harry had the misfortune of meeting his persistent gaze, he shamelessly bounded out of his stead and made his way toward their group.

“Incoming,” Harry muttered to his friends in warning just before Colin slid into an open spot right next to him.

“Happy Halloween, Harry!” Colin said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, Colin,” Harry said in his flattest tone. He tried to make it obvious that he didn't want to talk, but Colin wasn't picking up on this hints, as usual.

“Isn't this amazing?” Colin continued with his usual enthusiasm, “I heard they booked a dancing skeleton show! I wonder if I'll recognize any of their songs?”

“I think that's just a rumor, Colin,” said Harry, “They don't really have any dancing skeletons, you know.”

He'd hopped to find a fault in Colin's unwavering cheerfulness, but Colin would not be brought down so easily. He merely shrugged his shoulders and commented on the spectacular effect of the black bats flitting among the floating candles, and wondered how many students could fit inside one of the enormous jack-o-lanterns. Harry answered as briefly as he could to Colin's constant questions, all the while shooting glances at Blaise and Millie, hoping one of them would come to his rescue. But either they thought Harry's predicament was funny, or even they found it difficult to get a word in when Colin was at full tilt.

“Anyway, the first Quidditch match is coming up isn't it?” Colin asked, finally touching on the topic most likely to cause Harry pain, and to attract the full attention of Draco Malfoy. “I still think it's a shame I won't be seeing you fly. But it will be thrilling! My first Quidditch match... Where do you think you'll be sitting?”

“I haven't the slightest interest in the match,” Harry said loudly, certain that Draco was hanging on to his every word.

He added, “Goodnight, Colin,” with a tone of finality that even the first-year would be forced to acknowledge. He then motioned to Blaise and Millie, signaling that he was done with the feast and that they should follow him before Colin could renew his efforts to draw him back into conversation.

Blaise and Millie rose instantly, and the three of them left the feast early, the first of the students to abandon the festivities. Harry was worried that Colin's persistence would induce him to follow in their wake, but he was relieved to see him rejoin his friend Pandey at the other end of the table.

Feeling easy now that they weren't being stalked, the three friends strolled easily down the hall, swapping pieces of candy that they’d hidden in the pockets of their robes and making plans to continue their Halloween celebration in the common room. Harry and Blaise suggested a sleepover in Millie's room to swap scary stories, since neither of them felt like dealing with Malfoy again tonight. But Millie informed them with a smug smile that boys weren’t allowed in the girl’s dormitories.

Blaise began railing loudly against this injustice, shouting that Millie had easily entered their room just the other day, when Harry’s attention was once again arrested by a strange whisper. He halted, listening intently, trying to figure out from where the noise was coming.

_Have to hunt… Have to kill…_

There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that it was the same voice he’d heard before. He felt himself go cold all over with fear, but he was determined now to find the source of this phantom voice.

“Wait!” Harry called to his friends, who hadn't realized Harry had fallen behind, “Come back! It’s the voice again!”

Blaise and Millie turned, the expressions changing as they saw the look of fear on Harry's face.

“Cut it out, Harry,” said Blaise, “You’re just trying to scare us.”

“I’m not,” Harry argued, now walking slowly back down the hall, following the sound of the voice that he could still hear in faint, sporadic bursts. “It’s moving, I think. Moving right down this hall…”

Blaise and Millie looked nervously left and right, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall other than themselves.

“There’s no one here,” Millie said, stating the obvious, but Harry shushed her.

“I can hear it! It sounds close but… it’s muffled…”

_Have to kill… I smell.... Blood… I SMELL BLOOD!_

The horrifying whisper rose with elation, and Harry sensed rather than heard the source fading away.

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry shouted. He didn’t wait for a response. He sprinted in the direction he felt the voice had gone. He was terrified of the ghostly whisper, but the thought that it might even now be heading straight for a student filled him with greater dread. He thought of Moaning Myrtle, the ghost of a student who met her end in this very school, and felt sorry for making fun of her only moments ago.

His friends did not fail him. They were soon at his heels, following the voice that they could not hear, trusting that Harry wasn’t playing a prank on them. Harry suddenly found his feet splashing through water, and heard Millie exclaim that they were near the girls’ lavatory. Myrtle’s flood had spilled into the hall.

Harry rounded the corner and came to a dead halt. At the end of the hall, there was something written in large letters on the wall. Harry saw the dark red writing, and realized with a sinking feeling that he’d found the source of the blood that the voice had detected. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the hall, so Harry crept closer, reading the words large enough to be seen even at a distance.

 

**The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened**

**Enemies of the Heir Beware**

 

Harry puzzled over the cryptic message, all the while getting closer to see what dark shape was hanging from a torch on the wall. It was stiff and unmoving. Harry crept closer still, and could make out something small, black, and furry.

He realized what it was just as Millie let out a bloodcurdling scream. It was her cat.

 


	22. The Writing on the Wall

Blaise drew his wand and cast a spell to levitate the cat from the wall sconce. Millie was more distraught than Harry had ever seen her. She rushed to the hovering form and grabbed Mammon from midair, sobbing that someone had killed her cat. Harry and Blaise did their best to console her, but they were terribly frightened by this macabre discovery. Neither was sure what to do.

At first, Harry assumed that the blood smeared across the wall came from the poor creature, but as he gingerly pulled Mammon from Millie's trembling hands, cringing at its stiff, immobile form, he realized that there was no blood in his fur. He shuddered. If the blood didn't belong to the cat, then where did it come from?

He stared up at the message again, wondering who the heir was, and what hidden horrors this “chamber of secrets” was meant to contain.

“Do you think the voice you heard did this?” Blaise whispered to Harry.

Harry shook his head. “The voice was following the smell of blood. Whoever did this must have done it before...”

They both stared at the words, supporting Millie between them, who was still sobbing over her cat.

“Let's get out of here,” Blaise said.

Harry was thinking the same thing. It wouldn't be good to be seen standing before this bizarre notice, holding a dead cat. But before he could agree with his friend, he heard the sound of quick footsteps approaching. Cursing his bad luck, Harry turned to see the very last person he wanted to encounter in this situation.

Professor Snape swooped upon them, his black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a great bat. Harry knew better than to speak first. He had endured the usual jeers and calculated sabotage from the potions master this year, but Harry had learned to keep his head down and speak as little as possible, and thus he had managed to get by without an outright confrontation with the professor. Now there could be no escape. Without a doubt, Snape would find some way to blame Harry for this incident.

But Snape's attention was not directed at Harry. He eyes were transfixed by the words scrawled on the wall, and his already sallow face became as white as parchment. His thin lips moved along as he read the message quietly to himself, then his gaze fell on the three students huddled beneath the letters.

“Potter...” he said, just as Harry knew he would, “Some sort of Halloween prank?”

Normally, Millie would have jumped to his aid. She seemed to be the one Snape hated the least of Harry and his friends, but she was still too upset to be of any use. Instead, Blaise came to Harry's rescue, stating confidently that Harry had nothing to do with the writing on the wall.

“I've been with him all day, Professor,” he explained, “Harry didn't do this.”

“Then what could have brought the three of you here, to a deserted corridor, when the rest of the school is still observing the feast?” Snape asked suspiciously.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Harry blurted. Blaise glared at him for this interference, but it had just occurred to Harry that Snape hadn't been at the feast. It was suspicious that he'd show up now, just after Harry lost track of the voice and found Mammon instead.

“Not that I owe you an explanation, Potter, but I despise Halloween,” Snape said, pursing his thin lips as if the very word tasted sour to him. “And now that I've satisfied your curiosity, perhaps you'd do well to answer my question before I call Mr. Filch about this mess?”

“Millie's cat,” Blaise answered quickly, perhaps fearing that Harry would say something irresponsible to the professor again, “He's been missing all day. We thought we heard him meowing, and followed him here.”

Harry was thankful for Blaise's quick thinking. Snape would have never believed the story about the voice. It was far too bizarre to be believed by anyone.

Millie chose the perfect moment to pull Mammon from Harry's hands, and began blubbering in earnest about the fate of her pet. Snape was forced to direct his attention elsewhere. Harry heard him mutter a quiet curse to himself, then he lifted his wand. Harry jumped back in surprise as a bright silver light burst from the end of the potion master's wand. It took the shape of a large, four-legged animal.

“We have an emergency,” Snape said coolly to the spectral animal, “Summon the headmaster here.”

Harry thought he recognized the shape of a deer as it cantered away, short tail flipped up behind it.

The deer out of sight, Snape turned to the message once again, glaring at the words, still wet and glistening as if they'd just been written.

“Did you see anyone?” he asked suddenly, staring at the wall rather than look at the three children.

“No, we didn't, we -”

“I was speaking to Mr. Potter,” Snape replied, cutting Blaise short of his explanation.

Harry wasn't sure why he should be singled-out, though knowing Snape's hatred of him, he was mostly likely trying to catch Harry in a lie, so he could blame him for this whole mess.

“We didn't see anyone,” Harry said with confidence, bracing himself for the assault, “We chased the cat here, and that's when we found the writing.”

“And the cat?” asked Snape.

“He was hanging from that light,” Harry said, pointing to the iron sconce on the wall, “Blaise took him down. It was upsetting Millie.”

“That's funny, I thought you were chasing the cat's cries?” Snape said with a curl of his lip. Harry sensed trouble.

“I wonder,” Snape continued, “How the culprit could have done this to the animal, left his message on the wall, and escaped without your notice?”

“If I knew how he did it, professor, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

They heard the tramping of several footsteps, and Albus Dumbledore appeared on the scene. He brought with him the other heads of houses – Professors Sprout, McGonagall, and Flitwick. To Harry's chagrin, Gilderoy Lockhart was hot at their heels. Why he had decided to come along was beyond Harry. The other teachers did not seem pleased to have him in their company, and Harry was not mistaken when he perceived another quiet curse emanate from Professor Snape.

“If it's the poltergeist again, I have a few spells I think would do just the trick. I was instrumental in the exorcism of the Pawtucket Poltergeist. All it took was a simple purification charm, and... Merlin's beard!”

Lockhart's boasting was cut short as the party approached the end of the corridor. Harry thought he saw his blooming complexion pale momentarily. Dumbledore took the opportunity granted by his sudden silence to ask Snape what had happened.

“Mr. Potter and his friends discovered it moments ago,” Snape explained, “They claim they were chasing a cat, and it seems they found it.”

Snape motioned carelessly to Millie, who had calmed her sobs but was still cradling the stiff form of Mammon. Dumbledore approached her and rested a kind hand on her shoulder.

“Ms. Bulstrode, if I may?” he asked gently.

Millie gave a mute nod and handed the cat to Dumbledore, who began inspecting it minutely through his half-moon spectacles. Harry assumed he was searching for injuries to account for the blood, and knew he would find none.

Suddenly, a distant rumble of motion and voices arose from down the hall. The feast had ended, and any moment now the hall would be filled with students returning to their common rooms. Dumbledore gave a sign that he too was aware of the bustle, and suggested aloud that they move their party elsewhere.

“My office is the closest, headmaster!” Lockhart said, stepping forward eagerly. He had recovered from his initial shock and seemed eager to be of service somehow.

Dumbledore thanked him indifferently for the offer, and instructed Lockhart to lead the way. Lockhart did so happily, allowing Dumbledore to exchange a few whispered words with Professor McGonagall behind his back. Harry didn't catch what was said, but the next moment, McGonagall turned to face him.

“You three had better come along with us,” she said before turning her back and marching in the wake of the headmaster.

Snape gave Harry and Blaise a shove, causing them the stumble forward, “You heard the professor. Get moving.”

Harry walked in silence, not daring to whisper anything to Blaise with Snape at his back. His mind was racing with the possibilities of what had happened, and what was about to happen. It was clear that Snape suspected him, but Harry wasn't going to let himself be blamed for this accident. The very first chance he got, he would tell Dumbledore everything.

They arrived Lockhart's office, and Harry had to repress his exclamation of disdain. Lockhart had decorated the walls with pictures of himself. Some of the portraits peered curiously out of their frames at this intrusion, while Harry spied others darting out of sight, their hair in painted rollers.

The real Lockhart was standing by his desk next to Dumbledore, who had placed Mammon before him and continued his quiet inspection. Lockhart was busy lamenting the fact that he had not been there when the event occurred, as he knew just the spell that would have “saved the poor animal.”

Dumbledore turned away from him, ignoring him entirely, and approached Millie with a kind smile on his face.

“He is not dead, Miss Bulstrode.”

Millie gave a small sniffle and looked up into Dumbledore's face, her bloodshot eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Not dead?” she asked.

“No, not dead,” Dumbledore repeated, “He has been petrified. But he can be cured.”

“Petrified!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall, “Albus, are you sure?”

“Quite sure. The question is, how?”

“Perhaps Mr. Potter would have some explanation,” Snape suggested, his voice full of malicious intent, “After all, he claims he heard the cat meowing only moments before its body was discovered.”

Dumbledore turned his light blue eyes to Harry, his curiosity evident. Harry braced himself. He had been prepared for this moment. It was his opportunity to tell Dumbledore the truth, from the mysterious voice to discovering the bloody wall. But now that the moment was upon him, he hesitated. He couldn't understand what made him pause, but he felt that it would be foolish to confer this secret now, in front of Snape and the other teachers. He found himself saying, “We only thought it was Mammon. It could've just as easily been Mrs. Norris, or some other cat.”

Dumbledore observed Harry thoughtfully, then said, “It would take very powerful dark magic to do something like this. I doubt it is within the power of any second-year, Professor Snape.”

He said this, no doubt to clear away the suspicion Snape was trying to bring against him, but Harry was not comforted. There was something about the way Dumbledore's gaze pierced through him that made Harry think he was not completely in the clear.

“As it is... Pomona? I believe you have acquired a batch of mandrakes, have you not?” the headmaster inquired.

“Yes, indeed,” said Professor Sprout brightly, “Growing nicely too. Though it will be a few weeks yet before they've fully matured.”

“You see, Miss Bulstrode,” Dumbledore explained, “The mandrake plant can be used to make a variety of potions. Once matured, they can be brewed into a draught that will cure your cat. Until then, I will see to it that Madame Pomfrey shows him the same care she would give any student.”

“Ah, and I know just the potion!” shouted Professor Lockhart. He had been looking slightly put out that the general attention had been so long directed to someone other than himself. “Yes, it would be no trouble at all, I could have it prepared in no time.”

“Snape's the potions master,” Harry interrupted. He saw Snape gape at him surprise, and Harry couldn't blame him. He'd surprised himself. He disliked Snape immensely, and yet he felt better about leaving Mammon in Snape's hands than trusting him to the likes of Professor Lockhart.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore gently corrected.

“Yeah, that's the one,” Harry said, pretending he didn't understand the chastisement. He thought he saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkle in amusement.

“I think it would be best if the adults took it from here,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. It was clearly a sign that Harry and the others were dismissed. Harry and Blaise each took one of Millie's arms to walk her to the door. Normally, she would have resented their support, but she allowed herself to be led willingly as she kept her head down. Professor Sprout bustled out the door before them, stating that she would just pop down to the greenhouses to make sure the mandrakes were getting the best care, now that they had an important job to perform.

Despite Dumbedore's words a moment before, it didn't appear that the other teachers had plans to linger. Lockhart quickly darted out the door after Professor Sprout, obviously trying to give her advice on the best fertilizer to use for the mandrake plant, as if he had any idea. Flitwick and McGonagall remained just long enough to exchange a few words with Dumbledore, then they too were preparing to leave, each with their own mission to accomplish. Snape looked as if he had other things to do as well, but Harry heard Dumbledore call him back as Harry and Blaise made their way slowly into the hall.

“A moment of your time, Severus? There's something I'd like to discuss with you.”

Harry turned his head and saw a stony, but resigned, look on Snape's face. He'd obviously been expecting this summons, but had hoped to avoid the inevitable conversation. Harry assumed that they'd be talking about him. After all, Harry was in Snape's house.

Harry asked Blaise to go on without him, with the intention of listening in at the door, only to see Professor McGonagall closing it behind her, shutting Dumbledore and Snape from view.

“And what are you doing still loitering in the hall?” she asked sternly, “I believe the headmaster told you to return to your common rooms?”

Dumbledore had said no such thing, but Harry knew better than to argue with her. He resumed his place by Millie's side, and the trio began making their way back down the hall.

A large group of students had gathered around the ominous message, though they had split into smaller factions according to house lines. Harry saw a few older Slytherin students laughing at what they supposed was someone's prank, while a couple of Ravenclaw girls whispered, heads bent close, eyes darting to the Slytherin group with sly glances.

Harry caught snatches of conversation as he passed.

“Chamber of Secrets? What's that?”

“Enemies of the heir...”

“Whose heir?”

The student body's curiosity had been aroused, but there was no general feeling of alarm, merely of mystery. After all, the students had not seen what had happened to Millie's cat, and perhaps they weren't aware that the red writing was in fact blood. Blood that, as yet, appeared to have no source.

Harry pushed through the clusters of chattering students, trying to keep his head down and a low profile. But he was Harry Potter, and he could never go anywhere without attracting some notice. Already a few heads were turning his way, and he heard muttering. Questions started to fly, like “Did he just come from Lockhart's office?” and “Did you see him here before?”

Then he heard a camera shutter click, and with a feeling of dread he heard the voice of Colin Creevy calling out to him.

“Harry! Hey, Harry!”

“Not now, Colin.”

Harry urged Blaise to quicken their pace, but the sprightly first-year caught up to them easily.

“Harry, did you see the message?”

“Yeah, Colin, I saw it.”

“I got a photo! What do you suppose it means?”

“Something bad,” Harry said, thinking of what Dumbledore said about dark magic being involved, “Listen, Colin. We're taking Millie back to the common room. She isn't feeling well. If you know what's good for you, you'll head back too.”

Colin was quiet for a change. His steps faltered as he wondered what import could be hidden in Harry's warning. Fortunately, he caught sight of his friend, and rushed in the opposite direction to get Pandey's opinion on the proceedings.

 


	23. Salazar Slytherin

By the following day, the whole school knew about the writing on the wall. Gossip spread like wildfire among the student body, and before long it was common knowledge that Millicent Bullstrode's cat had been attacked. Some even said that they'd seen Harry Potter leaving Lockhart's office that night. Everyone was curious to know what he had been doing so close to the scene of the crime, but Harry wasn't in the mood to entertain. He kept apart, even from members of his own house, preferring the company of Blaise and Millie over the prying eyes of the other students.

Millie remained depressed and sullen. Harry and Blaise devoted themselves to cheering her up with reminders that Mammon would be cured soon. They thought they were making progress when she finally opened her mouth to speak, but it was only to snap at them for going on, so they let the subject drop.

By some silent agreement, they knew not to speak to anyone of the voice Harry heard that night. They hadn't even mentioned it among themselves, lest someone overhear. Harry knew the teachers would think he was lying, or worse, have him shipped off to St. Mungo's.

In spite of Harry's refusal to answer any questions put to him about the writing on the wall, the school went on buzzing with theories about what the message could mean. Harry asked Blaise again if he'd ever heard of a Chamber of Secrets within the castle, but Blaise only shrugged his shoulders.

“This placed is riddled with secret passages and the like. I'm sure there's more than one hidden chamber in the school. I mean, look at the third floor corridor.”

“But that was just to protect the stone,” Harry argued. Now that the Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed and the dangers protecting it removed, the formerly forbidden corridor had been reopened for regular use. “This must be chamber no one knows about.”

They knew better than to ask Millie, though her parents, both graduates of Hogwarts, might have mentioned something to her if such a legend did exist.

They did not remain in the dark for long. While the other houses struggled to pry information from the professors, the Slytherin students gathered in their common room about a week after the words appeared. Harry, Blaise, and Millie were surprised on arriving back from dinner to see a crowd growing around the Slytherin prefects. The fire was the only light in the dark common room, and someone had dimmed the enchanted flames. With the water of the lake pressing against the windows, painting them black, the room was cast in an eerie, flickering light, illuminating the rapt faces of the Slytherin students. Sensing that something interesting was about to happen, Harry and Blaise selected a pair of armchairs tucked in a shadowy alcove, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Millie apparently wanted nothing to do with the proceedings. Drawing her journal out of her pocket, she made her way silently up the stairs to the girls' dormitory to be left alone.

“It starts with the school,” Gemma Farley began, once all the students had settled and the conversation died away, “Long ago, when witches and wizards were looked at with hatred by muggles and faced deadly persecution, four great sorcerers decided to build a school as refuge for young mages.”

“You already know their names,” interrupted the prefect Harry recognized as Adrian Pucey, a chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team, “They were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.”

There was a murmur of approval as the last name was announced. Harry squirmed impatiently in his seat. He felt that now he was bound to get some answers.

“They knew it would be dangerous for muggles to find the school, so they built it with strong magic to keep those who weren't welcome far away,” Gemma said, continuing as if she hadn't been interrupted, “For a while the four founders lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when Salazar Slytherin attacked.”

“Well, he didn't attack, _per se_ ,” Pucey corrected, “More like schemed... Connived?”

Gemma directed a withering glance at him for ruining the mood she was trying to create.

“Very well, let's say plotted,” she resumed, “Salazar, once great friends with Godric, fought with him and the other founders over who should be admitted into the school. You see, Salazar did not trust magical children who were muggle-born. The muggles were their hated enemies, and inviting their children into the halls of Hogwarts would be admitting spies. Salazar felt that they were putting the children of pure-blood families in danger by allowing muggle-borns into the school.

“But the other founders wouldn't listen to Salazar's warnings. When he saw that they intended to proceed with their own plans without him, he vowed to leave the school, and would have no further part in it.

“And yet Salazar still cared for the students he was leaving behind, so he created a secret chamber, hidden away from the other founders. They say that inside the chamber, he left a fearsome beast, so there would still be a piece of Salazar to defend the school against invaders and those who would attempt to destroy it.”

The Slytherin students broke into spontaneous applause while Gemma stood to take a few bows of gratitude for her audience. When the clapping died down, a lone student raised his hand.

“But what did he hide in the school? What sort of beast was it?” he asked loudly.

Harry felt his stomach clench with second-hand embarrassment. The speaker was none other than Colin Creevy.

A few of the students glared at him, but many more turned their heads back to Gemma, awaiting an explanation.

Gemma shrugged, “Nobody knows. Supposedly it's something that only Salazar Slytherin could control.”

“But would he really have used it to attack muggle-borns?” Colin asked. Harry knew what must have been running through his head. After all, Colin was muggle-born.

Gemma smiled at Colin kindly and said in a reassuring voice, “It's alright, Colin. It's just an old legend. It's not real.”

“That's not true,” Pucey said. Harry saw his face redden as eyes of the anxious students were riveted on him. “I mean, it's been opened before. The chamber...”

Now it was Pucey who commanded the attention of his peers. While he'd been fine stealing the spotlight from Gemma before, he seemed unable to cope with being the main attraction.

“My gran told me about it,” Pucey said, “She was just a first-year at the time, but she said the chamber had been opened. Salazar's curse came true, and they nearly had to close the school.”

“What happened?” someone from the crowd called out breathlessly.

Pucey shrugged. “Someone died. A student. A girl, I think Gran said.”

Harry felt a chill rush through him as he heard these words. Someone had died? A student? Here? He felt like he was going to be sick, and that feeling worsened as another voice called out in a familiar drawl.

“Probably a mudblood. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

It wasn't the first time Harry had heard the slur used. There had been times when he'd hear it in snatches of conversation, whispered in a mocking tone by the older Slytherin students. He'd never asked what it meant, because he had a pretty good guess. Hearing it used by Malfoy in this situation, and seeing the color rise in Colin's cheeks, Harry knew his assumption, however horrible, had been correct.

Harry found himself rising from his seat, prepared to take on Malfoy, but he didn't need to. Colin's voice rose again, slightly trembling, but loud and passionate at the same time.

“Well I think it's terrible, and I hope it's not true. It's all well and good to say he was trying to defend the school, but from who? From kids like us? The other founders were right. If muggles were really persecuting witches and wizards, then muggle-borns were the most at risk. And if Slytherin really did create a chamber, then as one of his students, I hope it was for a more noble cause than trying to murder children.”

The rest of the Slytherins shifted uncomfortably in their places. There was probably not a student among them who didn't know that Colin was muggle-born. Having said his peace, Colin rose from his seat and began picking his way through the assembled students sitting on the floor, most of them his fellow first-years. No one was able to meet his eye, though Malfoy glared at him as he passed, and stuck his foot out to trip him. Colin stumbled slightly, and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle laughed, but they were the only ones. Colin collected himself with as much dignity as his small, scrawny frame could muster, and proceeded up the stairs to the boy's dormitory without another word.

Harry felt himself go hot all over in his anger toward Malfoy and the Slytherin students who were not able to meet Colin's gaze. He bolted from the room in pursuit of the first-year, angrily shoving his shoulder against Malfoy as he passed. He called out to Colin, stopping him on the landing just outside the first-year dormitory.

“That was really brave of you,” Harry said when he'd caught up to him, “Are you sure you weren't supposed to be a Gryffindor?”

He was trying to make light of the awkward situation, but Colin wasn't his usual smiling self. He stared back at Harry wordlessly, which is not something he could usually maintain in Harry's presence. Just has Harry was wondering if he was going to leave without saying anything, Colin replied.

“Why didn't _you_ say anything?”

“Me?” asked Harry, stupefied by this response. He'd meant to give Colin a bit of encouragement, to show him that there was someone among his house who felt as he felt. He had not been expecting this accusation.

“Your mum was muggle-born, wasn't she?” Colin asked.

Harry took a step back. He knew Colin was right, and he felt ashamed of himself.

But no one likes to feel like they are in the wrong, and Harry was no exception. He immediately thought of an excuse to defend his silence, and found himself saying, “Listen, Colin. I agree with you. But you need to be careful, especially around the other Slytherins. Most of them come from pure-blood families and...”

He faltered under the force of Colin's stare. He saw something flicker in the younger boy's eyes. It was the unmistakable dimming of his admiration for Harry. It was the realization that someone he'd considered a hero was no more than a boy himself.

“I didn't realize you were more concerned about making friends than doing what's right,” Colin said coldy.

“No... That's not...” Harry tried to explain that he was only worried about Colin's safety. If the Chamber of Secrets really had been opened and the legend was true, then Colin could be a target. But Colin had already turned his back on Harry, and closed the door of his dormitory in Harry's face.

Harry merely stood there, starting at the door in shocked silence. Colin's rejection was a heavier blow than he'd expected. He'd thought of Colin as merely an annoyance, but in truth, he'd grown accustomed to the boy's admiration, and maybe even took for granted having someone look up to him as a role model.

He finally turned away from the door, his spirits low, and saw Colin's friend, Pandey, standing on the stair a few feet down. He was staring up at Harry with wide, curious eyes, but Harry merely pushed past him without a word. He couldn't shake the impression that the Sorting Hat was a fool sorting a boy like Colin into Slytherin. He had the makings of a Gryffindor in him, for sure.

* * *

 

“It's Draco. It has to be.”

“No. If Draco were related to Salazar Slytherin, he'd never be able to keep it a secret. He'd've boasted about it the first time I met him.”

Harry and Blaise strolled down the hall after class, headed toward the library to do some much needed studying prior to a Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. Harry was also hoping to find some literature on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, and the pair ended up speculating on who the heir could be as they made their way past other students. Harry ignored the many stares he was getting from others. He was, after all, used to being stared at.

Harry was convinced that the culprit had to be in Slytherin with them. After all, Salazar was the house founder, a supporter of pure-blood families, and Syltherin House had the highest concentration of pure-blood students. It made sense that among them, there would be a descendant of Slytherin himself. The question was, who? And who held a grudge against muggle-borns so strong that they would pull a stunt like this?

“What if the Chamber hasn't really been opened?” Blaise asked, “Pucey said it had been opened before, right? Well, they never closed the school, so they must have caught the person responsible. They're probably still in Azkaban as we speak. Whoever left those words on the wall probably just heard about it from a grandparent or something and thought it'd be a funny joke. A way to freak people out on Halloween.”

“And Millie's cat?”

Blaise cringed, “So the joke wasn't very funny. That was taking it a little far.”

Harry conceded that it was possible, but he couldn't help remembering Dumbledore's words when he said that only powerful dark magic could have petrified the cat.

Their conversation dwindled as they passed a group of Gryffindor boys who were loitering in the hall. Harry recognized Ron Weasley among them, standing in the middle of three other boys whose names Harry couldn't recall at the moment. As Harry walked by, he could hear Ron clearly.

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” he was saying to his friends. Evidently, the knowledge of the legend had spread to the other houses. “To think that all this pure-blood nonsense started with him! I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried putting me into Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home.”

Ron pretended he was speaking to his friends, but this last comment was directed right at Harry. Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He had begged the Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor last year, but it had insisted on placing him in Slytherin, the house he least wanted to be in at the time. He glared back at Ron's group of friends, who must have known the comments were made for his benefit. He wondered if things had been different, would he be with them, belittling Slytherin House without knowing a thing about it?

He could feel his anger mounting, but Blaise placed a hand on his arm and called out to Ron with a smile, “Are you sure you wouldn't take the payment, Weasley? Maybe if every member of your family got paid for being in Gryffindor, you wouldn't be in the state you're in now.”

He made a gesture to Ron's tattered robes, a bit short for his tall, lanky frame. Ron took a step forward, but was stopped by his friends. It was no secret that Ron had a large family, and that their resources were often not sufficient to support them all. Blaise, who had never known want or need in his twelve years, laughed at Ron's embarrassment, and pulled Harry along to the library.

Harry didn't like the way Blaise made fun of Ron's family. Whatever his feelings toward the son, he couldn't forget the kindness of Mrs. Weasley the day he first boarded the Hogwarts Express. But he didn't want to start a fight with Blaise either, and knew his friend was merely trying to defend him from the Gryffindor's attacks. So he let Blaise go his own way, finding them a table to study, while Harry moved among the bookshelves, searching for something that might contain information on the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry scanned the selves, skimming the titles of the books, unsure of what he was really looking for. He thought of asking Madame Pince, the librarian, but she was always very stern and unpleasant to talk to. He was sure his asking for information on the Chamber would be viewed with suspicion by a woman like her. That was when, to his luck, he spied Ned Willowby moving among the shelves. Harry caught his eye, and knew Ned had noticed him too, but Ned quickly ducked behind a corner. Harry ran swiftly along the shelf, turning around the corner and cutting Ned off on the other side.

“Ned!” Harry said in a hoarse whisper. Loud conversations were frowned on in the library, “I haven't talked to you in ages!”

“A-Alright, Harry?” Ned whispered back nervously. Harry confronted him with a big smile, refusing to notice that Ned was clearly trying to avoid him.

“Maybe you can help me with something,” he said. “I was hoping I could find some information on the Chamber of Secrets.”

Ned's eyes widened. He cast his eyes around the library, as if fearful of being overheard. Harry worried he would make some excuse to get away, but instead he said in a small voice, “You and everyone else in the school.”

“Well, you're a Ravenclaw. Know of any good books?”

Ned considered, “There's Hogwarts: A History. But all the copies are checked out.”

“All?”

“Everyone is as eager to learn about the Chamber as you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, cursing his luck. He thought about asking Ned if he had heard anything about the legend of the Chamber from someone in Ravenclaw House. If anyone knew any of the facts surrounding the mysterious chamber, that house seemed the most likely to divulge some useful information. But Ned was looking at him with open curiosity, and seemed burning to ask Harry a question of his own. Harry smiled at him, encouraging with a look the question he knew would inevitably follow.

Ned appeared to gather his courage and finally said, “Harry... Do you know what they're saying about you?”

“That I'm the heir of Slytherin?”

Ned's eyes grew wider, “Is it true?”

“Of course not, Ned. Do I look like the heir of Slytherin?”

Harry had no idea what the heir of Slytherin was supposed to look like, and his question could have easily backfired, but fortunately, this answer seemed to satisfy the Ravenclaw boy, who gave a huge sigh of relief.

“I knew it wasn't true,” he said, bestowing a genuine smile on Harry, “I tried to tell the others that you were nice, you know?”

“Er, thanks...”

Ned shot a glare over Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced in the direction of the gaze, and saw that Ned was looking toward the table where Blaise sat, bending over his books and pouring over his charms essay. Harry understood the meaning behind Ned's look. Harry may seem nice, but Ned was casting suspicion on his friend.

Harry couldn't keep a slight edge out of his voice when he said, “Blaise isn't the heir. He can't be. His mother didn't even go to Hogwarts, and her parents live in another country, I'm pretty sure.”

Ned gave a nod to show that he heard and accepted what Harry said, but then he asked, “But what about his dad?”  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Blaise had had a lot of fathers, and Harry had heard a number of stories about them all, but Blaise's real father, his biological father, had died before Blaise was born. Blaise knew little about him, and Harry far less. Who had his family been?

Harry shook his head to dispel the doubt that started to cloud his mind. Blaise could not be the heir of Slytherin. Even if his father was somehow descended from Salazar Slytherin, Blaise would never do something so horrible to Millie's cat. Millie was their friend.

“I trust Blaise,” Harry said simply.

Ned gave a shrug, saying, “Just be careful, Harry. I believe that you're not the heir, but someone at this school clearly thinks they are, and they might be taking advantage of your fame to avoid getting caught.”

“Thanks, Ned,” said Harry. The two parted with a nod of mutual respect, and Harry made his way back to Blaise's table, certain that his search for more helpful information would yield no results.

“Fancy a study break?” Harry asked, shoving Blaise's books back into his school bag.

Blaise opened his hands to indicate the parchment and ink spread before him, “I've only just started! And you haven't done anything.”

“I've done plenty,” Harry replied, “Besides, now's not the time for studying. We have a mystery to solve.”

“What?” said Blaise, but Harry was already hurrying out the door, taking Blaise's books with him. Blaise had no choice but to follow.

Harry didn't like the direction that the school gossip was running. He could stand the rumors circulating about himself. He was used to people talking about him, for good or evil. But he couldn't stand it if his friends were viewed with suspicion, and Harry's conversation with Ned showed him that it was only a matter of time before Harry's poor reputation with the rest of the school spread to the people close to him. The best way to clear away all the doubt was to find the real prankster responsible. And to do that, they'd have to investigate. Harry thought he had a pretty good idea of where to start.

They found Millie in the common room. She was seated in an armchair, thankfully alone, as she was most of the time. She was curled up near the fire, passing her time with doodling in her notebook, as usual.

“Hello, Millie,” Harry said in greeting, plopping onto a couch directly facing his friend.

“I don't want to talk, Harry,” Millie said, still in an irritable mood.

“Not even to find the person who hurt Mammon?”

Millie's eyes flicked to Harry's face, piercing him with a cold stare. Harry knew he'd have to choose his next words carefully.

“The night we found Mammon, there was water on the ground. You said it was from a ghost who flooded the girl's lavatory.”

“Moaning Myrtle,” Millie confirmed.

Harry wet his lips, prepared for the next assault, “Do you think you could introduce us to her?”

To his surprise, it was not Millie who objected, but Blaise.

“Introduce us? To a mopey ghost who haunts a toilet?” Blaise gasped. Harry tried to shush him, as several other students inhabiting the common room looked over.

“She might have seen something,” Harry hissed, “She might even have seen the person who did it! Would anyone have thought to ask her?”

“Probably not,” Millie said quietly. “Do you really think she might know?”

“It happened right outside her bathroom. It's worth a shot.”

Millie closed her notebook and stood suddenly, “Let's do it. I mean, I don't have as much faith in Myrtle as you, Harry. But like you said, it can't hurt, can it?”  
Harry was delighted with his success. Millie had been so sorrowful the past few days, he'd counted on some more resistance from her. It was good to see her energized about something, and he prayed that the ghost did have some information for them, as a lead might keep Millie motivated to catch the person who harmed her cat. Harry knew it was wrong, but he did pity whoever it was. Millie was not going to be pleasant if they were able to catch the culprit.

Millie lead the way, the three of them walking quickly down to the first floor. The paused at the end of the hall. The red writing was still displayed on the wall. Filch had been at it with every enchanted cleaning solution available, but it was stubbornly remaining in place. Harry suspected this had been accomplished through dark magic as well. Harry worried that the sight of it would put Millie off, but after a brief pause, she pressed onward, her steps more determined than ever.

Harry and Blaise did not hesitate to enter the lavatory, in spite of it being for girls. Millie seemed confident when she told them that no one ever used that toilet, given the annoyance of Myrtle's haunting. And so they followed, not in the least embarrassed, though slightly curious to see how a girl's bathroom compared to the boys, and slightly worried that there would be some spell in place to stop them, like the one to keep the boys out of the girl's dorms.

He was disappointed that there was no real difference in the bathrooms. There were the same rows of wooden stalls, the same line of sinks with age-spotted mirrors behind. Except for the water that covered the flagstone floor, it was no different from any other bathroom. That, and the quiet moaning issuing from the last stall.

Harry could hear why Myrtle had been given her nickname. Millie's impressions, however mean-spirited, were nonetheless very accurate. The wails seemed to swell as they walked into the bathroom, perhaps for their benefit, as the ghost was clearly aware that she had an audience.

Harry nudged Millie in the side, giving her a look to tell her to introduce them. Millie shot Harry a glare that he understood as plainly as if she had spoken aloud. Millie agreed to bring them before the ghost, but she had not expected the job of spokesperson.

Harry felt he would be better at making the first introduction, and he cleared his throat politely before making the first assault.

The moaning cry abruptly stopped, and a harsh, nasal voice called out, “Who's there?”

“Erm, hello,” Harry said.

“A boy!” cried the voice shrilly, “This is a girl's toilet! Boys aren't allowed!”

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly. He shot Millie another glare, as if to blame her for not speaking first. They were already off to a bad start. “I'm not here to, er, interrupt or anything, but we were actually hoping to talk to you?”

“Who is we?” asked the voice, but before Harry could respond, the spectral body of Myrtle passed right through the bathroom stall door, and she floated before them, staring through a pair of thick, transparent glasses at the three of them.

“I'm Harry...”

“I know who you are.” Myrtle said. Her gaze was directed at Blaise.

“These are my friends, Blaise and Millicent.”

After Harry dispensed with the introductions, he gave a polite pause, allowing time for Myrtle to introduce herself properly if she chose. But Myrtle only continued to stare at him, her expression guarded and suspicious.

“Why did you want to talk to me? No one ever wants to talk to me. Who would want to talk to poor, miserable, dead Myrtle?”

“We would,” Blaise said. Myrtle's eyes hadn't strayed from him the whole time she was speaking. Blaise could sense a frail ego like a shark smells blood in water, and he was equally used to attention of the female persuasion. He offered Myrtle his most charming smile, “At the very least, I would.”

Myrtle's transparent cheeks turned slightly more opaque, and Harry had a suspicion that Myrtle was blushing.

“We wanted to ask you about Halloween night. You do remember that night, I suppose?”

“Of course, that's all anyone's been talking about. Even the ghosts, you know.” Myrtle said. Harry noticed that she couldn't keep a smug tone of superiority out of her voice.

“Well you must know a good deal about it,” Harry said, risking taking Myrtle's attention from Blaise, “After all, you, er, stay just down the hall from where the message was found.”

Myrtle gave a sniff. “Maybe...” she said, as if not willing to disclose her knowledge so quickly. Perhaps she was worried they would leave again as soon as they knew what information she had. Or, what seemed more likely, perhaps she knew they would lose interest if they discovered she knew nothing more than anyone else.

“Did you see anyone that night?” Harry asked, determined to press for more.

“Of course, I saw you,” Myrtle replied, pointing a finger at Millie.

Millie rolled her eyes, “I know you saw me. You soaked my robes, remember? Did you see anyone else?”

Harry saw that Millie had made a mistake instantly. Millie's response had been short and rather rude, and the effect on Myrtle was instantaneous. Her face screwed up, at even more of a disadvantage with the force of her emotions. Myrtle was apparently very sensitive, and this comment of Millie's, so direct and so obviously full of dislike, set her off.

“You needn't be so rude! You probably deserved to be soaked, just like all the others! You think I don't know what you all say about me? What you all call me behind my back! You're not different, you're just like the rest!”

And with a great desperate wail, she darted back into her toilet, sending a torrent of toilet water spraying into the air, high enough to strike the ceiling and sprinkle back onto them all, covering them in water from head to toe.

“Brilliant idea, Harry,” Blaise said, giving his robes a shake. Millie said nothing, but she gave Harry a stern glare, obviously blaming him for being the brains behind this idea.

Harry said nothing to defend himself. It was true that they hadn't gotten any useful information out of the ghost. It was frustrating. This first obstacle, cutting away their only lead, was a bitter pill to swallow.

They returned to the hall, though the sight at the end nearly sent them running back into the bathroom again. Filch had returned to his post. He had dragged a step ladder in front of the heir's message, and was busy trying yet another cleaning solution. The stubborn words remained, and he was muttering to himself under his breath, clearly furious that his efforts were in vain.

He was so bent upon his work that he did not notice the three children enter the hall from the lavatory. And they were able to keep watch on him for some moments in silence.

Harry murmured to the others, “Perhaps we can search for a clue? Myrtle was no help, but maybe the heir left something behind other than the message?”

They conducted a brief, quick search, trying to keep silent to avoid Filch's wrath if they were detected in that part of the school, but their brief search yielded no results. Blaise finally lifted his head from staring at the floor.

“This is just sad,” he said, suddenly directing his steps directly toward Filch. Harry had just detected some faint scorch marks on the floor that he thought might be a clue, and he would have directed his friend's attention to it, had Blaise not already been at the base of Filch's ladder.

“I may know a charm that could take care of that,” Blaise announced boldly, “Care for me to give it a try?”

Filch gave a jump of fright, not realizing before that moment that he had not been alone in the hall. He nearly tumbled off his ladder, and he turned his bulging eyes and sweaty brow toward Blaise in indignation.

“What do you think you're doing here? Students shouldn't be here while this... this...”

“This is a hallway,” Blaise argued, “And we have to use it to get to class. I don't see why...”

“Suspect! Suspect! Get out of here before I bring you in front of the headmaster under suspicion of … conspiracy, that's what this is! Ought to take you to detention to myself! Conspiracy to commit further vandalism!”

Blaise turned on his heel and rushed with Harry and Millie out of the hall while Filch continued to hurl his abuse at their backs. Blaise's expression was sour, and Harry distinctly heard Blaise mutter, “Bloody Squib...” under his breath.

Harry had no idea what a squib was, but it certainly sounded mean.

 


	24. Gambling with Gorgons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I'm leaving a note at the start of this chapter to give a brief update on the status of this story. I had intended to continue with weekly updates, but while reviewing the next chapter and the ones that follow, I realized that I am dissatisfied with the current draft. As much as I hate to take a hiatus in the middle of Harry's second year, I want to take the time to deliver a much better story that what I currently have written out. The current chapter I present to you is little more than a teaser. I know a lot of folks have shared my experience of having a story abandoned midway through, and I want to reassure everyone who has read this far that I have not forgotten this fic, I just need a little extra time to get it finished. I promise to continue updating the story as new chapters are completed. For now, please enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all again in future installments.

Harry did not want the setback with Moaning Myrtle to impede his investigation. The very next day, he decided to put Professor Lockhart's knowledge of dark magic to the test. Harry didn't have any faith in Gilderoy's ability as a teacher, but Harry reasoned that Lockhart couldn't have written so many books on the subject without some knowledge.

Harry still remembered the way Lockhart had bragged about knowing just the counter-charm that could have saved Mammon if he had only gotten there sooner. While Harry was sure he knew of no such thing, it made him wonder if there was in fact a spell that could have cursed the cat in that particular way. Harry thought that if he had a clue as to how the feat had been accomplished, then perhaps that would reveal who had the skill to cast such a dangerous curse.

Harry shared his idea with Blaise, who evinced even less faith in Lockhart than Harry himself, but for Millie's sake, he agreed that they must make the attempt.

Increasingly, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become little more than a venue for Professor Lockhart to reenact some of the exciting scenes from his books, so that class had become more theater than classroom. As the bells signaling the end of class sounded, Lockhart was just finishing up a particularly touching account of how he performed a homunculous charm on a werewolf that had been terrorizing a small village. Harry, to worm his way into Lockhart's good graces, agreed to play the part of the werewolf, and he was busy wriggling about on the floor, mimicking the excruciating pain a werewolf under the effects of the charm was said to undergo.

Harry remained on the floor, panting slightly from the effort of his performance, while the rest of the class gathered their books and papers to leave. The girls were all deeply moved by Lockhart's account of his own bravery and compassion. All except Millie, of course, who couldn't repress several scoffs and giggles during the scene. Harry merely swallowed his shame, knowing that Malfoy would not soon let him forget this most recent indignity.

“Capital performance, Harry,” Lockhart said when he stopped fixing his hair in the mirror and noticed Harry still lying on the floor. He offered his hand and helped to pull Harry to his feet. “If you're looking for a career that will catapult you to fame, I'd say you have a promising career on the stage.”

Harry could have reminded him that he was already famous, but thought better of it. Lockhart did not like anyone to shine brighter than himself. Instead, he shot a glance at Blaise. His friend was still in his seat, shooting a hostile look at Lockhart and looking like he wanted to back out of this plan. Instead, seeing Harry's pointed gaze, he stood and made his way reluctantly toward the teacher.

“Mr. Zabini!” Lockhart said with genuine delight. “How are you doing? Your mother is well I trust?”

Harry could tell that it took all of Blaise's willpower to turn his cringe into a smile.

“She's well, Professor Lockhart. I think she's enjoying your book.”

“Oh? Which one?” Lockhart said with a delighted grin.

“The one I've just had the privilege of seeing you perform, sir.”

“Ah! _Wanderings with Werewolves_. Indeed, one of my favorite adventures.”

Blaise, usually oozing with charm, especially when he knew he stood to gain something, gave Lockhart a tight smile.

“She seems to be particularly interested in the homunculous charm you so excellently exhibited for us just now. I'm sure she'd love to know how you managed such a difficult spell.”

Lockhart cleared his throat in obvious discomfort and quickly redirected his attention to Harry.

“Yes, well... I would be delighted to tell her, but perhaps that's a discussion for another time. I'm sure Harry here did not wait around just to ask about the homunculous charm! What is it I can do for you? Some advice about the ladies perhaps?”

“What? No!” Harry exclaimed. He quickly modulated his tone and started again, “No, professor. Actually, we did have a question, but it's about the Dark Arts.”

“The Dark... Arts...” Lockhart replied slowly. “Yes... I see...”

“You are the Dark Arts professor, aren't you?” Blaise asked, sensing Lockhart's increasing trepidation.

“Professor of _D_ _efense_ Against the Dark Arts. I'm afraid when it comes to dark, er, _practices_ , I haven't much practical knowledge... For which I am very fortunate! That's not something for young boys to be dabbling in, and certainly nothing fit for upstanding wizards such as yourselves.”

“Please sir, it's theoretical knowledge we're looking for,” said Harry in his most wheedling tone. “It's about what happened to Millie's cat.”

“Ah yes...” Lockhart said, trying a pitying expression the way some people might try on a mask, “I had forgotten that the poor creature belonged to one of your friends. It's natural for you to be curious, Harry, but as I said, such things are not proper for young people to know about.”

“Please, Professor,” Blaise added, after Harry shot him a glance, “If we knew how it happened, maybe we could find a way to reverse it. Perhaps you know a spell...?”

“The best thing for it is the mandrake potion, and that will take time to produce,” Lockhart said definitively, “I'm afraid there is no charm that can restore a petrified individual.”

“But what could have done it?” Harry pressed, “If a charm can't reverse it, then it couldn't have been a spell or hex that caused it to happen in the first place, could it?”

Lockhart squirmed under the force of their joint interrogation. Harry realized that no matter how noble their intentions may have been, they were right not to put their faith in Lockhart. It was clear he didn't know anything, practical or otherwise. Harry wasn't sure how he'd managed to write his books, but he was sure they were more fiction than fact.

“Nevermind, Professor,” Harry said, deciding it would be useless to force him to answer a question for which he clearly did not have an answer.

Harry motioned to Blaise, who was only too willing to leave it at that. He turned to follow Harry out the door, when suddenly they were called back by a wild cry from Lockhart.

“Wait! Wait, I think I've just thought of something!”

He seemed almost frantic not to lose Harry's respect, hardly knowing that he never had it to begin with. Perhaps he realized his mask of confidence was slipping, and he didn't want to consider the consequences of having Harry Potter speak badly about him to the other students. If word of his incompetence got out, there was a good chance Dumbledore would give him the sack. Whatever his concern, Lockhart pleaded with them to wait a moment, and dashed through a door at the back of the class, leading into his private office. Harry and Blaise exchanged a glance, silently asking one another if they should just leave, or see what Lockhart had thought of. They were spared making a decision by the sudden reappearance of the professor, clutching a stack of parchment in his hands.

“Yes, yes! I have it here! In _Gambling with Gorgons_.”

“ _Gambling with Gorgons_? I don't remember that on the reading list,” said Blaise.

“Ah ha! That's because it's my new book. I haven't published it yet, but look for it in stores near you next Autumn! Ha ha!”

He saw that Harry and Blaise were not laughing, and with an awkward grin, he flipped through some of his manuscript and gave a satisfied sigh.

“You see, I thought of it when Harry said it couldn't have been a spell. There are creatures, like the Gorgon, who can cause damage with just a look. Meeting the Gorgon's eye is fatal to the viewer, for even a glance turns one to stone.”

He looked at them with a grin that practically begged for their approval, but Harry was less than convinced.

“But Mammon didn't turn to stone,” said Harry, “And he isn't dead. Just petrified.”

“Well, yes... But you must admit, being petrified is rather similar to being turned to stone...”

He trailed off, seeing the unconvinced expressions on Harry and Blaise faces.

“Alright, so maybe it isn't a Gorgon,” he conceded, “But it may be a creature rather like a Gorgon, or at least one that has similar abilities... The point is, Harry, perhaps there's some truth to these rumors after all, and we're not dealing with a man, but a beast.”

Perhaps he meant to impress them with his theory, and his subtle reference to the legend of the chamber, but Harry had already heard this horror story. He shrugged his shoulders, no longer caring if the professor believed he was a fan or not.

“Someone had to write those words on the wall, Professor,” Harry said simply, turning to leave once again. He paused only long enough to see the small illustration Lockhart had doodled of the Gorgon on the cover of the manuscript. She seemed to be a beautiful woman, but for the mass of twisting snakes instead of hair. Something about the image gave Harry a feeling of foreboding, and he turned away with a shudder, thankful that the image of a Gorgon wasn't enough for him to be petrified himself.

 


	25. The Rogue Bludger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Long time no see. The revisions to the second half of Harry's second year are moving along, and I thought it was high time I gave you all an update. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Look for another update in a week's time.

Harry did not want to go to the Quidditch match. He told Blaise that he would rather spend the afternoon in the library researching dangerous beasts. Perhaps he could even take the opportunity to break into the restricted section for books on dark magic. Anything would be better than watching Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team soar around on their ill-gained broomsticks.

Blaise managed to convince him in the end, though it took much coaxing. They invited Millie as well, but she had become increasingly difficult to be around after their conversation with Moaning Myrtle. After she turned them down with barely an acknowledgment, they shrugged their shoulders and went to the Quidditch pitch without her.

Harry put on a brave face as they took their places with the other spectators. He considered cheering for Gryffindor, but thought better of it. The Slytherins would not take kindly to a traitor in their midst.

The two teams took to the air, and Harry had to choke back his bile as he was forced to watch Draco rise with the others. To make matters worse, the new brooms were magnificent. Compared to them, the Gryffindor players seemed to fly in slow motion. The outcome of the match was decided before the Quaffle was even in play. It would be a sure victory for Slytherin.

Harry, green with envy, should have been proud of his house, but he was only capable of sympathy for the Gryffindors. It really was unfair to let a parent of one of the players out-buy the other team.

As the game progressed, Harry's apathy for the proceedings turned to genuine interest. The Gryffindor team, although outmatched by the brooms, had the upper hand when it came to pure skill. While the Slytherins relied on their speed alone to rack up points, the Gryffindor team performed some truly spectacular plays. Slytherin remained comfortably in the lead, but the point gap was not as large as Harry had expected. If the Gryffindor Seeker was able to spy the Snitch first, then they could still win the match. Thinking this, Harry pulled his focus from the game to scan the skies, searching for the tiny golden ball.

He found it. Even from his spot in the stands, he spied the Snitch, glittering in the sunlight and flying near one of the tall goalposts. He wanted to scream or wave his arms, anything to get the Gryffindor Seeker's attention. In spite of everything, he did want his own house to win, but he'd rather see Slytherin lose than witness Draco catch the Snitch in his first match.

Harry's eyes frantically searched among the players for the two Seekers, wondering if either of them had seen the Snitch as well. But the Gryffindor Seeker was making slow loops above the other players' heads, while Draco was showing off, zipping around the towers that circled the pitch at breakneck speed.

Harry rolled his eyes. He thought about informing Blaise of the stupidity of the two Seekers. In fact, he was on the point of nudging his friend to draw his attention to the Snitch, now fluttering very near the Gryffindor Keeper's head, when one of the Beaters swooped directly over them, pelting a low-flying Bludger in another direction.

Harry and the surrounding students ducked and gave surprised shouts, then laughed as the Beater, in Gryffindor's red robes, did a loop before shooting off again. Their amusement didn't last long. Someone in the back rows shouted, “Look out!” and they were all forced to duck again as the heavy Bludger veered back in their direction, shooting right over their heads.

The ball shot to the back of the covered stands, blasting straight through the tarp cover. The students stared in mute amazement at the near-perfect hole left in its wake. Someone gave a nervous chuckle, then another screamed as the Bludger was seen whipping its way back toward them, returning through the same hole it had just made.

The students flew into a panic. Bludgers were charmed to attack players, but Harry had never heard of them flying into the audience. Clearly, something was wrong.

A few of the players paused in midair to watch the spectacle, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. One of the Beaters, a player named Jefferies, detached himself from the sport and flew to the rescue, swinging his club as hard as he could against the Bludger before it could sweep over their heads again. The ball rocketed away toward Katie Bell, a Gryffindor Chaser in the act of tossing the Quaffle at the goalposts. Harry could tell from its trajectory that it would have been a perfect hit, fully capable of knocking the player from her broom, but in midair the Bludger once again changed direction. Jefferies had only just enough time to shout a confused curse before he dipped low on his broom, barely avoiding the ball before it could crash right though him in its relentless pursuit of the student section.

Harry shouted to his fellow students, directing them all take to the stairs and get to the ground as quickly as possible. His warning was hardly needed, as many students had already set off for the stairs, pelting down the steps as fast as their legs could carry them.

There was no question in Harry's mind now. The Bludger had been tampered with. Not only was it not supposed to attack spectators, but it usually chased after players at random, attacking whoever was closest. This Bludger apparently had a target in mind, and was going after that unlucky individual at all costs.

Harry did not charge for the stairs like the others. He kept his eye trained on Bludger, ducking it at times, but determined to wait. Part of him wanted to be sure that the other students reached the ground safely, but another part of him was curious to see how this would play out. Already the Weasley twins, both Gryffindor Beaters, had flown in to join Jefferies in his defense of the tower. All three were circling it while taking turns swinging their clubs against the rogue ball. Harry could hear their desperate shouts as they tried to get the referee's attention.

Madame Hooch finally seemed to realize that something was wrong, and Harry heard her sharp whistle. They rest of the players froze, but the Beaters continued their activity, as the Bludger had not ceased its attack. Instead, it appeared to redouble its efforts, plowing past one of the Weasley twins, and shooting straight toward Harry.

Harry was in such a state of shock, he nearly forgot the wand in his hand. Thankfully, reflexes kicked in, and with a cry of “ _Reducto!_ ” he sent a spell hurling at the ball.

The ball was not only blown back, but blasted into many glittering pieces in a violent flash of light.

Blaise gave a whoop of delight and smacked Harry on the back. “Galloping Gandalf, Harry! That was a nice shot!”

Harry grinned at him. He would have to thank Millie later for teaching him that spell.

He quickly wiped the smile from his face as Madame Hooch swooped down on them, still blowing her whistle in indignation, as if doing so would set everything in order once again.

“What in Merlin's name is going on here?” she asked testily, slightly out of breath from puffing so hard on the whistle.

The students all began speaking at once, some saying that the Bludger had been tampered with, others alleging that it had attacked Harry. Madam Hooch blew furiously on her whistle again, silencing them all. The flying instructor turned her hawk-like eyes on Harry, singling him out of the crowd and demanding, “Well, Mr. Potter. What do you have to say about this?”

“Me?” asked Harry, dumbfounded, “How should I know?”

“These students seem to think it was you who tampered with the ball.”

Blaise immediately jumped to Harry's defense, exclaiming that it was he who had been the target. Why would he want to attack himself?

As Blaise continued his protest amid renewed exclamations from the Beaters, the two team captains came shooting forward with complaints of their own.

“What's going on?” shouted Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, “Why has the match stopped? Who called time?”

“This is ridiculous!” screamed Marcus Flint, the veins on his neck popping in anger, “This is sabotage! One of their players must have hexed the Bludger to attack only Slytherin players.”

“It wasn't attacking players!” shouted one of the Weasley twins. Harry couldn't tell them apart. His brother nodded his head in agreement and added, “It was attacking students!”

Marcus's lip curled, “Then clearly your spell didn't work as planned.”

If they hadn't been seated on their brooms several stories above the ground, Harry was sure the twins would have attacked Marcus for this insinuation. Instead, they renewed their shouts and accusations. Madame Hooch gave another furious blow on her whistle, demanding quiet from them all.

“That is enough! All of you, rejoin your teams on opposite sides of the field. I shall have to consult the headmaster on how to proceed. Mr. Potter, I suggest that you and your friend rejoin your classmates on the ground.”

Harry did not need to be told twice. He and Blaise sprinted down the stairs, swapping their own speculations and questions with one another, but still no closer to guessing the truth of what just happened.

By the time they reached the ground, Albus Dumbledore was rising from his seat in the faculty box. A hush fell over the crowd that Madame Hooch could never hope to impose, not with all the whistle-blowing in the world.

Harry squinted up at the little figure far above them in the stands. Blaise handed Harry his opera-style enchanted binoculars to see, and Harry observed through the lenses that the headmaster had his wand raised to his own throat. When he spoke, his voice was magically amplified, echoing around the entire arena.

“Due to concerns of tampering, and the loss of one of our Bludgers, the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match will be postponed indefinitely, pending an investigation.”

He waited patiently for the groans to subside, then continued, “If Harry Potter would be kind enough to meet me in my office, I have a few questions for him.”

Harry could practically feel the eyes of the entire school boring into him, and he felt sick. Couldn't Dumbledore have summoned him privately? At this rate, the whole school would think he was the one who tampered with the ball.

Harry had no idea where Dumbledore's office was. He was prepared to flee to the relative seclusion of his room, or even to seek comfort and security in Hagrid's cabin. But as soon as Dumbledore's announcement ended, and a background roar erupted from hundreds of students talking and moving at once, Professor Snape appeared, his presence parting the students before him.

“I am here to escort you to the headmaster, Potter,” Snape said, unable to suppress the vicious smile on his lips, “And may I just say, I cannot wait to hear your explanation for this one.”

“I'm coming, too!” Blaise said courageously.

Snape's eyes flashed in anger. He replied coldly, “The headmaster's instructions were to bring Potter in for questioning alone.”

“But Harry doesn't know anything! The rest of us were up there with him, and saw just as much! Dumbledore should question us all.”

“And I'm sure he will, Mr. Zabini. But first, I think it prudent that he hear Mr. Potter's explanation before you've had a chance to agree on a story.”  
Blaise looked prepared to leap at Snape for this last comment, but Harry stopped him with a look and a shake of his head. He didn't want his friend getting detention for defending him.

“I'll see you at Hagrid's, Harry,” Blaise said through gritted teeth. Harry gave him a nod. It was usually their habit to visit Hagrid after a Quidditch match, or any Saturday afternoon, and it was the best place for them to talk without being overheard by other students.

He allowed himself to be led away by Professor Snape, and walked with his head high past the glares of the students, both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.

Snape said nothing to him as they made their way into the castle, but Harry thought he detected a spring in his step, and knew Snape was trying very hard not to break into song and dance at the thought of getting Harry expelled. But Harry wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He had done nothing wrong, and would explain that to the headmaster. He just had to hope that Dumbledore was at least a reasonable man, if a little eccentric.

Snape led Harry to a familiar corridor, and Harry realized he had once followed the headmaster here under his invisibility cloak last year. The entrance to Dumbledore's office must be hidden somewhere in the hall, but Harry was at a loss to guess where. Snape finally came to a stop before a large stone gargoyle.

“Cockroach Clusters,” he said gleefully.

For a fraction of a second, Harry was confused, thinking that Snape was having a stroke of some sort, but then the gargoyle seemed to come to life, and sprang to one side. Professor Snape motioned Harry to enter the space revealed by the living statue, which contained nothing more than a spiral staircase, rotating slowly in place. Harry rode the stair upward until it stopped at a landing with a simple oak door. Snape rapped his knuckles against the wood once, and a soft voice called from within, beckoning them to enter.

It was the first time Harry had seen the headmaster's office, and he wasn't disappointed at the sight. There were portraits hung over every spare inch of wall, each displaying a witch or wizard who peered out of their frame at Harry, not bothering to hide their curiosity. Those parts of wall not covered by a portrait were concealed by tall shelves. Some housed large leather-bound books crammed in side by side, seemingly without order or arrangement, while others housed strange glittering silver instruments, the purpose for which Harry was at a loss to guess.

Finally, there was the man himself, seated behind a massive desk, piled high with various stacks of parchment. He sat with his long, thin fingers crossed before his face, concealing the expression of his mouth. Harry might have tried to read the intent behind his blue eyes, but his attention was arrested by the sight of a large red bird, seated on a perch behind Dumbledore's right shoulder.

Harry jumped in surprise as the first words out of the headmaster's mouth were not a reprimand, but a question.

“Do you like him?”

He had seen that Harry's attention was drawn to the bird. Harry tried to collect himself, but he wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know how he felt about the bird, or even what kind of bird he was seeing. It was big, perhaps larger than a swan, with the same long, graceful neck. However, it had the beak of a hawk, and long tail feathers like a parrot. He supposed it might have been beautiful at one time, but there was something off about it now. It was bald in patches, and the feathers that clung feebly to its thin frame were thin, scraggly, and dull, as if covered in a layer of dust.

Harry tried to think of something polite to say about the dismal looking creature, seeing as it was clearly the headmaster's pet, but all he could manage was, “Er...Yeah, he's very... big...”

“Fawkes is a phoenix,” Dumbledore explained, “I am sorry you had to see him today. He's molting, you see. Has been looking dreadful for a week. But I suppose it's about time for his combustion.”

“His... Sorry, what was that, sir?” Harry asked.

At that moment, the bird suddenly erupted into flames. Harry gave a scream of startled terror and jumped back, falling against Snape and causing the professor to curse loudly and take a step back himself, nearly overturning one of the small tables and the delicate silver instruments it supported.

“There! You see? About time, too,” was all Dumbledore had to say about the matter.

Snape shoved Harry away from him and fastidiously brushed off his robes, as if afraid that Harry carried some sort of contaminant. But Harry wasn't paying him any attention. He stared at the pile of ash that had collected on a sort of plate under the bird's perch, dumbfounded by the headmaster's reaction.

Dumbledore could see Harry's bewilderment plainly, and he gave a soft chuckle before saying, “Phoenixes are very fascinating creatures. When they reach the end of their life, they burst into flames, as you have just seen. And from the ashes, they are reborn. Observe.”

He pointed one of his long fingers to the pile of ash, and sure enough, Harry saw movement. A small, ugly bird's head poked out of the remains, just a tiny chick.

“Forgive me headmaster,” Snape said icily, “I am sure this lesson has been very informative, but I was under the impression you wished to see Mr. Potter for more than a lecture on magical creatures?”

“Of course, you're right Severus,” Dumbledore said pleasantly in the face of Snape's rude remark.

The headmaster turned his face toward Harry, a smile still on his lips, and Harry instantly felt reassured. If Dumbledore meant to punish him, then surely he wouldn't smile at him like that.

“Now then, Harry. There seems to be some confusion about the business with the Bludger. The sooner we get it worked out, the sooner we can resume our Quidditch tournament.”

He paused, and Harry realized a little late that he was giving Harry a chance to speak. Harry chose his words carefully.

“I'd like to help, sir. But I'm just as confused as everybody else.”

“There are some who have said it was you who enchanted the Bludger.”

“That's not true,” Harry said quickly, adding in a more humble tone, “I wouldn't even know how, sir.”

“Relax, Harry. I am not accusing you. The Quidditch supplies are kept locked in Madame Hooch's office and inspected before every match. It is clear they were not tampered with before the game began.”

Harry felt his shoulders release the tension he hadn't been aware of holding until that moment.

Snape did not share Harry's feelings of relief. He immediately stepped forward and suggested to the headmaster Harry could have easily manipulated the ball during the match.

“And had the Bludger attack himself, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, an amused smile on his lips.

Snape was silenced, and Harry felt like doing a dance of victory on top of Dumbledore's desk, but he wisely restrained himself. Instead, he asked Dumbledore the question that was now forefront in his mind.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Harry said, still trying to sound as humble as possible, “But if you don't think I could have bewitched the Bludger, when why did you ask to speak to me?”

“For the simple reason that the Bludger did appear to be targeting you,” said Dumbledore.

Harry remained unconvinced, “There were a lot of people in that tower, sir.”

“True, but none of those other students were Harry Potter, were they?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry didn't know what to say.

“Can you think of any reason why someone would be targeting you, Harry?” Dumbledore continued.

Harry could think of one. Just last year Harry had faced-off against Lord Voldemort, the same warlock to had murdered his parents when Harry was only a baby. The teacher he had been parasitically drawing power from died, but Dumbledore believed that Voldemort survived, and continued to bide his time until he could make a full return in his own body. If anyone wanted Harry dead, it would have to be him. But whenever Voldemort's next attack came, Harry was sure it would be something more deadly than a rigged Quidditch game.

After careful consideration, Harry responded to Dumbledore in the negative. He honestly couldn't think of anyone else who would want to seriously hurt him.

Snape began muttering something under his breath about “seeking attention” when the door to Dumbledore's office swung open. Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, her usually smooth, tight bun looking windswept, as if she'd rushed to Dumbledore's office in a hurry.

“I suppose you have come to accuse my players of sabotaging a game that we were clearly winning?” Snape drawled. “I believe I have more reason than you to accuse the opposition of foul play.”

“What you're saying is completely ridiculous, Severus,” McGonagall said, her voice as wispy as her hair, “It's also not why I'm here. Something far more serious has just happened. Headmaster, you're needed immediately.”

Dumbledore stood from his chair as Harry's mind began to ponder what exactly could be more important than Quidditch. He was burning with curiosity as Dumbledore drew shoulder to shoulder with Professor McGonagall, their heads together as they conversed quietly. For a moment, Harry felt a strange kinship with Snape, who was hanging back in an attitude of respect, but was obviously no less eager to hear what news the Gryffindor head-of-house brought to the headmaster.

Dumbledore beckoned to Snape, and the three teachers continued in fervent whispers while Harry looked on jealously, trying to catch some of their conversation. Perhaps Dumbledore noticed his prying eyes, as he turned back again with a gracious smile, and quietly asked Harry to wait there for his return. Harry tried to read some clue from the expression on his face, but the look behind his half-moon spectacles was as inscrutable as ever.

Harry agreed to wait patiently, and the three professors quickly, but calmly, exited the room. Harry, left alone in Dumbledore's office, soon became bored of observing the tiny phoenix chick. He cast his eyes around the room for something to interest him, desperately trying to avoid meeting the eyes of any of the moving portraits, when his gaze fell upon something interesting.

Upon one of the shelves behind Dumbledore's desk, resting proudly on a stack of old texts, was the Sorting Hat. Harry hadn't seen the patched item of clothing since his first year at the school, having missed the sorting ceremony at the beginning of the year. Seeing it again in Dumbledore's office did not fill him with fond memories. He distinctly remembered begging the hat to be sorted into Gryffindor, but had been placed in Slytherin instead, his absolute last choice.

Harry stared at the hat for a full minute, listening intently for any sound that one of the teachers was returning to the office. But it was clear that they hadn't merely stepped outside. They were gone entirely. Harry, burning with curiosity and spite, waited only a moment longer before rushing around the desk and pulling the hat from its perch.

Harry placed it on his head and found that it was still rather too large for him. It slipped easily over his eyes once again. Surrounded by the nostalgic darkness under the hat, Harry thought the phrase _Hello, Ass-Hat._

 _Interesting..._ Said a little voice that seemed to be whispering right behind Harry's ear, _If I'm an Ass-Hat, what does that make you?_

 _Very funny,_ Harry retorted, knowing full well that the Hat could hear his thoughts, _So you have a sense of humor. Is that why you decided to sort me into Slytherin?_

_Are you still going on about that? I told you already, Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness._

_I'm already great._ Harry thought boldly. Any humility he'd shown before Dumbledore had been blasted away by his desire to prove the hat wrong.

_Is that so? Then I see the sorting has already done it's job. I'm surprised Slytherin House produces such quick results._

Disgusted, Harry pulled off the hat and shoved it back on the shelf.

“You're wrong,” he said aloud, “Gryffindor... Slytherin... It makes no difference, anyway.”

“Who are you talking to, Potter?”

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape's voice and spun around to face the professor. He knew Snape must still be suspicious of his behavior, but he counted himself lucky that the teacher had not caught him with the hat on his head.

“I was talking to Fawkes.” Harry said, improvising quickly.

Snape's gaze flickered to the fledgling bird and remained there. He didn't seem to like looking at Harry for very long, and his current preference appeared to be the ugly gray phoenix. He addressed the bird, though his words were for Harry.

“You are to return to your common room immediately. Don't wander, or it will mean house points.”

Harry knew better than to question Snape. The potions master was already stealing hateful glances in his direction, and any delays would be met with a harsh remark. He would have better luck asking his fellow students what was going on. Without a word, he slipped past the professor and down the stairs to the ground floor.

It was clear that whatever news had brought McGonagall to Dumbledore's office in such a hurry had quickly spread through the rest of the school. There were little groups of students dotting the halls, talking in quiet whispers to each other. Many of them turned to stare at Harry as he passed, filling him with a sense of foreboding. He toyed with the idea of approaching one of these groups, perhaps the clique of second-year Hufflepuffs he recognized from one of their joint classes, but before he could work up the courage to put his plan in motion, a couple of prefects appeared in the hall, shouting at everyone to return to their common rooms at once.

The two prefects, a boy and a girl from other houses, continued to round up the students amid shouts and protests, but Harry didn't need to be told twice. He broke into a sprint, rushing straight toward the dungeons and the secret entrance to the Slytherin common room. He paid no mind to the curious glances directed at him by the students he passed. His only thought was to get to the common room, where he was sure either Blaise or Millie would fill him in on whatever tragedy had transpired during his brief absence.

He was destined to be disappointed. Blaise was nowhere to be found when Harry burst into the common room, and Millie was likely still shut up in her dormitory. The rest of Slytherin House gathered in the common room, with everyone talking at once. However, all the chatter stopped as soon as Harry entered the room, and everyone turned to stare at him.

Harry tried to prevent the blush that he could feel rising to his face, but it was impossible. He was used to stares and whispers from students in the other houses, but among his fellow Slytherins, the novelty of his presence had worn away during his first year. Most of the time his housemates paid him no mind. This sudden change in behavior was both strange and unwelcome, and Harry was left wondering what had caused it.

Desperate to escape their collective gaze, Harry fled to his dormitory, hoping to wait for Blaise's return there. He flung the door open in haste, and was again disappointed by the sight of Malfoy, still dressed in his Quidditch robes and chatting with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry was on the point of diving into this own bed, thinking he would shut himself behind the curtains and pretend his dormmates didn't exist, when Draco spoke up.

“You know, Potter, I didn't think you had it in you.”

Perhaps he meant to sound mocking, but his tone was one of awe and respect. Harry paused in the act of pulling his bed curtains shut and glared at him.

“What are you talking about? If it's about the Bludger, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Not that,” Draco said, his eyes widening, “I'm talking about the Chamber.”

“ _What_?” Harry asked again, his tone sharper than he intended.

“You mean you don't know?” Draco asked, seeming unsure if Harry was testing him or not.

“Draco, just tell me what you're talking about or leave me alone.”

“It's that Creevy,” Crabbe suddenly said, surprising Harry and Draco both by interrupting, “He's been petrified.”

 


	26. Potions, Plots, and Petrification

Harry did not sleep well that night, and the deafening snores of Crabbe and Goyle did nothing to help. Harry didn't know how Blaise could stand it. He had returned from Hagrid's cabin late that afternoon and immediately came to find his friend, but Harry had been in no mood to talk. And so Blaise had retired to his own bed, and Harry didn't dare peek out of his curtains to see if he was still awake. Harry remained in the oppressive darkness of his four-poster, his mind overwhelmed by the horrible knowledge of what had happened to Colin.

Hours after everyone else had fallen asleep, Harry finally felt his eyelids droop, his exhaustion overpowering the racing thoughts plaguing his mind. His head fell heavy against the pillow, and his breathing became slow and deep. But sleep was destined to evade him that night, and it felt like only a few minutes had passed before the light touch of someone's hand on his head woke him.

Harry jolted awake, delirious, terrified, and prepared to scream, when a thin hand covered his mouth to silence him. In the dim light, Harry saw a familiar elf crouched at the side of his bed.

Seeing that Harry recognized him, the elf swiftly removed his hand, and Harry slowly exhaled the scream that had been in his throat.

“Dobby!” Harry said in a hoarse whisper, “What are you doing here?”

Dobby wrung his hands together fretfully. He was staring at Harry with a mixture of woe and exasperation.

“Why did Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts?” he moaned in a quiet voice.

“It's a good thing I did, Dobby,” Harry said sternly, “Do you know what's been going on here? Millie's cat was attacked, and now a student, too. I have to do something!”

“Harry Potter is too noble... He is concerned for his friends...” Dobby said in painful ecstasy.

“Stop that! I'm not being noble. I just have to...” Harry stopped himself mid-sentence. He had been so overcome by the sudden appearance of the elf, he had momentarily forgotten Dobby's warnings during the summer.

“You knew this was going to happen!” Harry hissed through clenched teeth, “You told me not to come because you knew about the Chamber of Secrets!”

“No, no! Dobby did not know, Dobby swears! Dobby only knew something evil was going to Hogwarts this year...”

“Something evil? Dobby, you have to tell me what you know! Is it the Malfoys?”

Dobby's thin lips pressed into a hard line, and he closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side frantically.

“Dobby, I already know you work for them. Just tell me! Draco can't really be the heir of Slytherin, can he?”

Dobby's eyes popped open and he gave a sort of strangled cry, “Oh no! Harry Potter mustn't think... of Young Master Malfoy... Oh!”

Harry had a feeling that threats would not work, as Dobby probably heard enough of those in the home of his masters. Instead, he lowered his voice still farther, and said in his most wheedling voice, “Dobby... I have to know what's going on. If you tell me, then maybe I can stop more people from getting hurt.”

Dobby's large green eyes swam with tears. Harry hoped he had broke him, but Dobby simply murmured, “Harry Potter should save himself before it is too late. Harry Potter should have stayed away when the platform was locked. Why did Harry Potter have to return?”

“The platform?” Harry asked. The truth settled over him suddenly. “So it was you who blocked the platform? Was it you who sent the Bludger after me, too?”

“Dobby thought that if Harry Potter believed he was in danger, he would not want to remain at school!”

Harry was in a state of disbelief. This elf's efforts to save him were going to get him killed if this continued.

Harry took a deep breath and tried again, “Dobby... Am I being targeted? Is it... You Know Who?”

Dobby looked fearful, but he whispered, “No... Not him, sir... Not exactly him...”

Harry was about to ask what this meant. Did Voldemort have another accomplice in the school? Someone, like Quirrell, who acted for him?

Before the words could leave his mouth, there was a soft noise in the room. Dobby gave a cry of alarm, and disappeared from sight with a sudden loud crack. An instant later, Harry's bed curtains were whipped open, and Draco Malfoy stood staring at Harry with dark circles under his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Harry automatically.

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

Draco eyes peered into the dark corners surrounding Harry's bed. “I heard voices.”

“You must have been having a nightmare,” said Harry, “That, or I'm having one right now. Seeing you in your nightdress is about the most frightening thing I can imagine.”

Draco glared at him and snapped, “It isn't a nightdress. It's sleep robe, and it cost more than your entire wardrobe, Potter.”

“Did you crawl out of bed just to tell me about your clothes, Draco?”

“No! You were talking to someone. I heard you!”

Harry opened his mouth to tell him to leave, when a pillow sailed between their faces, landing in Harry's lap. It was accompanied by Blaise's irritated voice.

“Oy! If you two are gonna snog, do you mind taking it to the common room? Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Draco stomped back to his bed, his usually pale face glowing so red from embarrassment, it practically illuminated their bedroom. Harry scoffed at Blaise's comment and rolled over, clutching the sacrificed pillow to his chest. He sat back up with a huff and snapped the curtains closed again, then tried to get comfortable. But sleep was impossible now. He kept expecting Dobby to show up any second, but the elf was probably too terrified of discovery to make another attempt.

Dobby's warning had done little to deter his resolve. If anything, Harry was more determined than ever to find out who the heir was, and if he could discover their connection to the Malfoys and knock Draco down a few pegs in the process, so much the better.

* * *

 

Unable to sleep, Harry waited until the earliest possible moment when he could jump out of bed and start the day. He dressed in near-darkness, debating whether he should wake Blaise and force him to go down to the common room with him to talk. But then he remembered Blaise's irritation from a few hours before, and how upset he got if he missed a second of his beauty sleep. Harry decided it could wait until later.

He grabbed his book-bag, thinking he would do some studying for the end-of-term tests that were swiftly approaching. At the least second, he grabbed his invisibility cloak and stuffed it in with the rest of his supplies. If he was going to be unearthing the mystery surrounding the Chamber, then a bit of unplanned espionage might be called for. It was better to start carrying the cloak with him again.

Feeling a bit nostalgic for the more care-free adventures he'd had with his cloak last year, Harry stepped down the stairs to the common room. He expected it to be completely empty this early in the morning, but to his surprise, there was one other occupant.

Millie sat on the floor by the fireplace, the only source of light in the common room at this hour. She had a blanket wrapped around her broad shoulders and a book sitting in her lap. But she wasn't reading or drawing, she was merely staring at the flames. She was looking sad and forlorn again, and Harry thought about leaving her to her thoughts, knowing she would probably resent his intrusion. But the sound of his footsteps as he hit the final stair gave him away, and Millie turned with at start.

“Sorry!” Harry said quickly, “I didn't mean to scare you!”

“You didn't,” said Millie. She turned away and Harry thought he saw her wipe her sleeve across one of her cheeks. He was horrified at having caught her crying, but he knew it would be far more awkward if he left now.

“Couldn't sleep either?” he said instead, trying to restore a since of normalcy with innocuous small talk.

Millie shook her head and continued to stare into the flames.

Harry selected a seat near the fire, enjoying its warmth and thinking Millie was smart to bring her blanket down with her. He wondered how long she had been sitting in the common room. If it had been Blaise, Harry simply would have asked if something was wrong. But you couldn't do that sort of thing with Millie. She prefered pretending that she didn't have emotions, and Harry wanted to respect her privacy. Still, he had to say something to break the tension, and he decided on the topic that was forefront in his mind.

“I had a visitor last night.”

The comment was vague enough to draw interest, and after a beat of silence, Millie turned her attention back to Harry and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Remember Dobby?” Millie nodded and Harry continued, “He appeared in my room last night. He was sitting on my bed.”

“Woah, creepy. What did he want?”

Pleased that Millie had taken an interest in his story, Harry recounted as much of the conversation as he could remember. He finished by stating that the Malfoys must be involved in this somehow, though he was at a loss to see the connection between Dobby's odd warnings and the Chamber.

“I mean, I still don't think that Malfoy is the heir,” he concluded, “Draco is a lot of things, but discreet is not one of them. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut.”

“But didn't Adrian say that the Chamber had been opened before?” asked Millie, “Do you think it could be true?”

“Maybe. And if it was, maybe it was Lucius Malfoy's doing. Or Draco's grandfather or great-grandfather. He's always going on about how the Malfoy family has been sorted into Slytherin for generations. The key could be passed down from father to son... But there's no way it's Draco!”

Harry exclaimed this dramatically. The truth was, he didn't think Draco was cut out for being the Heir of Slytherin. He was too annoying, too whinging, too petulant to be entrusted with the key to the Chamber of Secrets. He told himself this was not jealousy, that he didn't want to be the Heir of Slytherin, and that he had no interest in going around attacking muggle-borns. But it was infuriating to think that Draco could be distinguished in such a way, and Harry couldn't help but hope he was right after all, and that someone else was behind all of this.

He thought again about Lord Voldemort, wondering if there was some connection. Dobby had denied it when Harry asked him, but Lucius Malfoy was a Voldemort supporter if Harry ever saw one. He was about to open his mouth to solicit Millie's opinion on the subject, but the hour had progressed, and a few of the early-risers were already trickling into the common room. Many of them looked alarmed to see Harry already dressed and waiting, though a few others gave him a cheery hello.

Millie took their appearance as a sign that she too could get ready. She told Harry she would change out of her night clothes and be down in a moment, and Harry waited patiently. She returned again before Blaise was even out of bed, but eventually all three made it down the breakfast table, with Harry whispering to Blaise in cautious tones the shortened version of his conversation with Dobby.

“So that's what all the noise was about,” Blaise said, stretching his arms above his head and looking thoughtful. “I thought Draco was trying to crawl into bed with you.”

“Please, say that a little louder. I don't think the whole school heard you,” said Harry with heavy sarcasm.

It was true that Blaise, who had not bothered to keep his voice down, had attracted the attention of a few Slytherin girls headed to the Great Hall a few paces ahead of them. They giggled at the sour look on Harry's face, and rushed quickly ahead. Blaise merely smirked, and Harry privately vowed revenge.

They ate their breakfast in a hurry and headed to the library straight away. A student may have been attacked, and the whole school was buzzing with rumours of who the culprit could be, but that didn't stop the teachers from announcing that end-of-term exams would be held on schedule.

Harry bent his head to the transfiguration homework he promised to complete for them all in exchange for Millie and Blaise completing his DADA and charms assignments, respectively. Transfiguration wasn't his best subject, but he tended to do better in McGonagall's class than either Blaise or Millie, so the lot usually fell to him. He was struggling through their assignment as best he could when Millie gave a frustrated groan and whispered to him.

“Harry, trade assignments with me.”

“What? But you're brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts!”

“Not this year,” Millie said irritably, “Lockhart keeps giving us assignments asking us to detail his personal likes and dislikes. It's absolute garbage, and I've never once opened one of his stupid books.”

“Well I haven't either,” Harry argued, “I'd be just as lost as you.”

“But he likes you, Harry. Can't you just write some flattering trash for us and have done with it?”

Harry didn't see why Millie couldn't make stuff up just as well as he, but he agreed to the trade and was soon looking at the questions listed out on their assignment sheet. The first was “Which do you think is more likely to subdue a banshee? A levitation charm, or Gilderoy Lockhart's smile?”

Harry gave a sigh of disgust, losing all motivation to continue his studies. He glanced out the window wistfully, watching the snowfall start to pile up against the windowpanes. It made him think of a suitable change of subject.

“What are our plans for Christmas?” he asked.

“Mum wants you to come visit us again,” Blaise answered, “Millie, you're invited as well. That is, if you think your parents would agree.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't care,” Millie replied, her face turned toward her paper as her quill scribbled across the smooth surface without pause, “But I was thinking of staying here for Christmas.”

Harry thought this was odd, and wondered why she didn't want to come spend Christmas with them. He was about to press the invitation, thinking that perhaps Blaise sounded too careless about it for Millie's liking, when Blaise interrupted him.

“Well, at least you won't be alone.”

Harry and Millie both looked up from their parchment, their quills still as they waited for Blaise to explain. Blaise shrugged and nodded to a table not far away, where Draco and his usual band of cronies were also studying laboriously for finals.

“I overheard him saying he'd be staying over break as well.”

“Draco is?” Harry had to ask, certain there had been a mistake. Draco was a spoiled only child, as everyone knew. It was odd that his parents would agree to have him remain at school when he could be doted on at home.

Blaise shrugged, the simple gesture enough to acknowledge Harry's surprise, and yet confirm that it was true. Suddenly, Millie's choice to stay behind could be beneficial to them all. She could keep an eye on Draco, and make sure he didn't do anything suspicious over break.

He communicated his idea to Millie, who rolled her eyes at him but promised she would keep tabs on Draco over the holiday.

* * *

 

Potions class proved to be more trouble the next day than usual. It had always been Harry's least favorite class, due to the mutual dislike that existed between him and Professor Snape. Though recently, Defense Against the Dark Arts had come in a close second. Harry wasn't sure which was more cringe-worthy, watching Snape belittle Neville Longbottom almost as often as he sneered at Harry, or watching Gilderoy Lockheart ask Blaise about his mum for the millionth time.

That day, they were busying themselves with a swelling solution. Snape had written the instructions up on the blackboard, and Harry was busy trying to follow the difficult recipe exactly. Snape was always the most critical of Harry's work, and he was almost always selected to have his potion tested before the class. Snape delighted in testing potions on his students, so Harry was in a constant state of fear when it came to making his, lest he accidentally concoct something toxic, and end up in the hospital wing in a worse state than either Colin or Mammon.

He was bending over his cauldron, carefully extracting a spoonful of the liquid to drip onto a newts eye, when it happened. There was a splash, and a second later the contents of Goyle's cauldron exploded, spraying the nearby Slytherin students with its contents.

Much to Harry's dismay, Goyle had apparently developed a successful swelling solution. Harry had the misfortune of getting some on his hands, and his fingers were already swelling to the size of sausages. Draco, who had been partnered with Goyle this class period, got a face full of the stuff, and his lip was now dangling pitifully against his chest. If Harry hadn't been weighted down by the girth of his own swelling fingers, he might have laughed.

Understandably, this caused quite a commotion on both sides of the classroom. Snape snapped orders to the students, commanding anyone who had been affected to come to the front of the class to receive the antidote. Harry queued up with the rest, his fingers now dragging against the cold stone floor. Blaise was right behind him, cradling his over-sized head in his hands so the weight wasn't completely crushing his neck. Harry thought there might be a joke somewhere in there, but at the moment, he didn't feel much like laughing.

Harry allowed Blaise to cut in front of him, and was the last in line as he approached Snape's desk at the front of the room. His heart sank as he saw Snape's mouth twist into a smirk, his snake-like eyes gleaming.

“Oh dear, did your little prank backfire, Mr. Potter?”

“You think I did this to myself?” Harry asked, futilely trying to lift his own hands. He was irritated, but not surprised. It was just like Snape to try to blame this incident on Harry.

Snape pretended not to to notice his comment, and merely said, “This is unfortunate. It seems I have just used the last of the antidote on Mr. Zabini.”

“Liar,” Harry said. He heard a light gasp from Neville Longbottom, who was probably astounded by Harry's nerve.

Snape sneered at him and waved an empty vial in front of his face.

“I am afraid your friend's massive head required more of the potion that usual to restore. Though I must say, no amount of potion could ever do anything about his bloated ego.”

There it was, the joke Harry had been plotting himself, but Snape had beat him to it. It was less funny coming from the teacher. Harry said nothing, and did not even crack a smile. He merely glared at Snape, knowing full well he had plenty of antidote in his storeroom somewhere, if only he would look.

To Harry's surprise, it was once again Snape who looked away first, although he had the upper hand in this situation.

“Will you stop glaring at me like that, Potter?” he said, clearly annoyed. “Madame Pomfrey will have plenty antidote in the Hospital Wing. The swelling has stopped, so you should have no trouble getting there yourself.”

Harry did not bother to argue. He turned on his heal as sharply as his dragging fingers would allow, and marched out of the room. He was present just long enough to see Snape inspecting Goyle's cauldron, and with a flick of his wand, levitate a twisted bit of blackened stuff that looked very much like one of Filibuster's Fantastic Water-Proof Fireworks.

Snape's chilling drone followed Harry out of the classroom as he said, “If I ever find out who did this, I will make certain that person is expelled.”

Dragging his engorged hands up the stairs from the dungeons to the Hospital Wing was one of the most humiliating and physically exhausting experiences of Harry's life. The one saving grace was that Goyle's potion had the odd side effect of deadening Harry's nerves, so he felt no pain as he dragged his fingers behind him and they bounced along the steps. He only hoped the bruises left behind once his hands were of regular size would not be too painful.

Madame Pomfrey acted almost as annoyed as Harry felt, as she quickly fixed both the swelling and the bruising, complaining the whole time about students not wearing proper safety equipment before handling dangerous materials. Harry made a few sympathetic noises to show he was listening, when in reality he was peering behind the nurse, trying to make out a figure on the bed behind her, which was surrounded by white curtains. He was certain that Colin was in that bed, and he hoped for a glimpse of him.

Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey guessed what he was about, and as soon as he was back to normal, she shooed him out of the Hospital Wing, slamming the door behind him. For a moment, Harry considered sneaking in under the cover of his cloak. Unfortunately, the cloak he'd stored in his book-bag just that morning was left with the rest of his school supplies in the Potions classroom. Harry cursed at his own carelessness, and hoped that Blaise thought to grab his things for him.

He was on his way back down the stairs, taking a different route on account of the moving staircases, when he heard the sound of quiet sobbing. Harry froze, trying to make out where the sound was coming from, when he saw that just below him, sitting on the same flight of stairs that was his aim, was a small boy. From his size Harry guessed it was a first year. He was bend double, his face in his lap, trying to stifle the sobs that shook his narrow shoulders. Harry could tell from his robes that he was in Slytherin, and as he was directly in Harry's path, he knew that the boy could not be ignored.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked in his kindest voice. The boy looked up, and Harry recognized Herbivorous Pandey, Colin's reluctant friend.

“Harry!” he exclaimed in surprise, quickly wiping away his tears.

“Um, it was Herb, wasn't it? What are you doing here?”

“I went to see him,” Herb said, pointing up the stair that led to the hospital wing.

“Did they let you see Colin?” Harry asked, understanding Herb in an instant.

The question was a mistake. Herb, who had just managed to collect himself, twisted his face to try to prevent the tears that began to stream from his eyes anew.

He buried his face in his hands to stifle his tears, and Harry could just make out his words through muffled sobs, “It's awful! Just awful, Harry!”

Harry was shocked to see such a strong display of emotion from the usually scowling first year. What's more, he was surprised to see him cry for Colin's sake. Herb had always seemed to be in Colin's company more from the force of Colin's affection rather than his own preference. Harry was touched to see that Colin had such a devoted friend. He patted Herb's shoulder in what he hoped was a consoling way.

“It's alright,” he said in a soothing tone, “I heard Professor Sprout say she put scarves and socks on the mandrakes this morning. They're growing nicely, and before long they'll be able to give Colin a potion to restore him, good as new.”

Herb's moans of grief increased with renewed vehemence, and he wailed, “That's the problem! The poor mandrakes! What are they going to do to them?”

Harry pulled his hand away, disillusionment setting in as he realized Herb wasn't crying for Colin, but for a few silly plants.

Herb continued his lamentations, “Do you know that they have the same developmental milestones as a human? Oh, the poor things! They're going to kill them! And all for some stupid potion!”

“I would think you'd be more worried about Colin,” Harry said coldly, “You know, your friend who is lying as if dead in the hospital wing?”

“I am worried about him,” Herb admitted, “But couldn't they find some other way to brewing the potion without the mandrakes? There must be a substitute...”

“They are plants,” Harry reminded him, “It's not like they're actually alive.”

“How do you know?” Herb challenged, “They cry like they're alive. They even go through puberty! What makes you think they aren't alive?”

“Well, er... I mean, they're certainly alive in a sense, but I don't' think they have, you know, thoughts and stuff.”

Herb looked at Harry doubtfully and gave another sniffle, though he seemed to have calmed down again. Harry was about to make some excuse to leave, perhaps by mentioning that his friends were waiting, when he had a sudden thought.

Herb might be more concerned about plants than his friend, but he had been allowed to see Colin when Harry could not. Perhaps he had seen something that could furnish Harry with a lead on the Heir.

“Herb, the day Colin was petrified, he was attacked just after the Quidditch game. Do you know what he was doing in the castle by himself?”

“Yeah,” Herb said, his voice thick from his crying, “He said he was going to tell Dumbledore that you didn't bewitch the Bludger.”

Harry was stunned, “Do you mean he knew who really did it?”

Herb shook his head. “I don't think so. He just said he knew there was no way you would do something like that, and that he was going to tell Dumbledore himself so you wouldn't get in trouble.”

Harry felt a pang in his chest. Colin had been disillusioned when he and Harry last spoke, but even still, he thought well enough of Harry that he was going to defend him, and he'd been attacked for it. Harry felt responsible, and for the first time, a sense of anger toward the attacker mingled with his desire to capture them.

“Don't worry,” Harry said, more to himself than to Herb, “I'm going to catch whoever has done this.”

 


	27. The Dueling Club

Colin Creevy, unlike most Slytherin students, did not think himself bound to socialize only with those of his own house. Naturally friendly and outgoing, it did not take long for his presence in class to be missed. For a short time, only his Slytherin peers knew the truth, but it did not take long before an intrepid Ravenclaw thought to ask Pandey where Colin had gone, and soon the whole school knew of the attack.

The spread of this information did nothing to help Harry's reputation. Once the story was out, Slytherin students were mobbed by the other houses, as everyone wanted to know the full details. Many of Harry's fellow housemates, stunned and flattered by the attention, were eager to share the detail that Colin had once bad-mouthed Slytherin's legacy in Harry's presence, and that Harry had followed Colin up the dormitory stairs soon after. Rumor had it that he argued with Colin, defending Slytherin's honor and threatening to silence Colin if he continued his attempts to defame the house founder. It was complete rubbish, but people believed it just the same.

Harry knew better than to try to combat the waves of gossip against him, and he continued to go about his day as if nothing was wrong. Privately, he was more determined than ever to discover the true heir and bring him to justice. Only then would his name be entirely cleared.

Meanwhile, Colin's petrified state sent the rest of the school in a frenzy. Terrified first years went everywhere in packs, as if afraid of being caught alone, and a booming trade in magic talismans and amulets seemed to spring up overnight. The older students knew that the garbage being traded off was completely useless, but the younger students were more gullible, and fell pray to them easily. Harry himself saw Fred and George Weasley trying to sell a string of garlic bulbs to some of the Hufflepuffs from one of his classes, and he stepped in to reprimand them, hating to see the students get cheated.

The Weasley twins laughed in the face of Harry's scolding, but they walked away without trying to sell any more products to the first-years. Yet they couldn't resist throwing a few barbed comments at Harry as they went.

“I guess you won't be needing these, will you Potter?”

“Worried that if anyone has these, you won't be able to sick your beastie on them?”

“C'mon, give the people a fair chance!”

They laughed at their own cruel jokes, and Harry watched them go with his arms over his chest. He turned with a friendly expression to the Hufflepuffs, saying, “Don't listen to them. Those things wouldn't help, anyway.”

But the Hufflepuffs merely looked horrified. They hurried away without saying a word to Harry, and he realized only after they were gone that his words must have sounded like a threat to them.

Irritated beyond description, Harry continued walking to the library, where he planned to meet Millie and Blaise. He found them in their favorite study corner. Blaise was busy writing out three copies of their pending charms essays, while Millie copied down cheat sheets for their potions final on bits of parchment.

“That'll never work,” Harry said as he took a seat across from them, “Snape can spy a hidden note from a mile off.”

Blaise nodded in agreement, not looking up from his essay. “He could probably smell it with that big nose of his.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Millie waved her wand, and the scraps instantly burned away to little piles of ash.

“Did you see the notice board?” Blaise asked suddenly, brushing a bit of fallen ash away from the edge of his parchment.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. The notice board in the common room normally held student fliers asking for lost things or posts from the prefects reminding students of the school rules. Occasionally, some prankster would put up a silly drawing or limerick, but other than that, he usually walked right past the board without glancing at it.

Sensing Harry's lack of interest, Blaise abruptly set their essays aside and leaned toward him, an excited twinkle in his eye.

“They're starting up a dueling club,” he said.

“Dueling club?” repeated Harry, “What for? Do they think we can fend of Slytherin's beast with some spells?”

“I think it sounds fun,” said Blaise, sitting back in his chair, “At the very least, it'll be nice to learn some new spells to use against Draco.”

This was tempting. Even Millie expressed an interest in going, although she probably knew most of the jinxes that would be useful in a duel. Harry agreed to go along with his friends, and they signed up for the club as soon as they'd returned to their common room.

* * *

 The following weekend, a crowd of students marched down to the Great Hall for the first Dueling Club meeting. The long dining tables and benches had been pushed against one wall, except for one, which was placed in the center of the room, forming a sort of runway though the milling crowd of students. Harry viewed the makeshift stage with trepidation.

“Who did you say was instructing this club?” Harry muttered to Blaise.

But Blaise only shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I didn't.”

To Harry's dismay, the door to the hall's staff entrance opened, and Gilderoy Lockhart strolled into the room. Today he was in a suit as gold as his wavy hair. It shined as he walked down the length of the table, beaming from ear to ear. A hush had already fallen over the students, but Lockhart made a point of calling everyone to order, doing a sort of pirouette to make sure that all eyes were on him.

“Welcome, welcome everyone!” He said cheerfully, “Dumbledore has given me permission to host this little dueling club for all of you, and I hope you will find it as entertaining as it is educational! We will start with a demonstration of basic forms. Here to help me is a professor who I am sure needs no introduction...!”

He swept his arm grandly to demonstrate the figure who had risen on the opposite end of the table. Harry couldn't suppress a gasp as he noticed Professor Snape for the first time, looking like a spectre of death in his usual black robes. There was a murmur rippling through the students now, mostly from the Slytherins, who seemed surprised to see their Head of House standing on the same platform as Professor Lockhart. Snape did not bother to hide the fact that he preferred to spend as little time as possible near the Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher. Whispers circulated as they wondered what could have convinced him to volunteer has Lockhart's assistant.

Lockheart smiled, completely misinterpreting their concern.

“Now, now. Don't any of you worry. I'll be sure to leave your potions master mostly unharmed when I'm through with him.”

Harry thought he'd rather take his chances against Slytherin's beast than duel Snape while he was making such a dark expression.

“Run, you idiot,” Harry muttered to Lockhart under his breath, “Can't you see he's out for blood?”

Blaise leaned into Harry and whispered back, “Maybe he plans to off Lockhart and take his job.”

“Let's hope so,” Millie added.

The professors took their positions while Lockhart explained the proper way to begin a duel. They stood before one another, raising their wands in front of their faces in an upright position, then lowering them to the side. Lockhart added a graceful bow, though Snape only jerked his head spasmodically, then they turned their backs to each other and took ten paces in opposite directions. Lockhart turned to face his opponent, striking an impressive pose. Snape merely held his wand at the ready. At nearly the same time, they both took aim and fired, though Snape was a bit faster.

“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, and Lockhart was blasted clear off the table, eliciting screams from most of the female students. His wand had been knocked out of his hand.

Many of the Slytherin students gave appreciative applause, pleased in the performance of their Head of House. Lockhart quickly jumped to his feet, rearranging his hair and trying to cover his embarrassment with a dazzling smile.

“Yes, very good thinking, Severus! Showing the students the disarming spell. Of course, I could have blocked it if I'd liked, but I thought it would be good to let the students see how it's done.”

Snape looked murderous, and this time Lockhart seemed to notice.

“Why don't we have you all give it a whirl?” he suggested quickly, “Let's have you pair off and practice.”

Harry turned automatically toward Blaise, but in the next moment, Snape was sweeping down on them.

“I don't think so,” he said in his oily way.

Harry turned hopefully to Millie, and Snape smirked.

“Guess again.”

Harry decided to try a little reverse psychology.

“Please sir, I'd really like to try practicing with Malfoy. I've heard him say he's a great duelist, and I bet I could learn a lot from him,” he said. Blaise tried to stifle a snort but was unsuccessful.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Snape, beckoning his favorite student with a wave of his hand.

Malfoy seemed to be waiting for this very opportunity. He sprang to Snape's side, eager to do whatever was asked, and could barely contain his delight at being paired with Harry.

Harry didn't bother to hide his disappointment. Millie had been paired with Hermione Granger, and Blaise moved off to work with Ned Willowby. Harry felt like they had it easy. Granger was smart, but Millie could out-hex her any day. And though Willowby seemed nice, he was clearly a pushover. Blaise would have no trouble with him.

“Everyone have a partner?” Lockhart called over their heads. “Good! Now, on my signal! Three, two, one! Fire!”

Harry wasn't exactly sure what they were supposed to be doing, so he fired the first spell that popped into his mind. Unfortunately, the most of the others students were just as perplexed, and the result was complete pandemonium. Flashes of colored light fired left and right, closely followed by squeals and cries of pain. Harry managed to hit Malfoy in the chest with a tickling charm, and he fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. Unfortunately, Malfoy still had enough breath to shout his own curse at Harry, who was now performing a sort of one-man waltz around the floor, completely against his will.

“Enough, enough!” Lockhart cried, moving through the students and attempting to restore order. The students who were still attempting to fire off their spells abruptly stopped, and but for a few moans of pain, all was silent. Then a cry suddenly ripped through the still air.

“My teeth! You've knocked out one of my teeth!”

Harry's head whipped in the direction of the shouts, and he saw Blaise only a few yards away. He was holding his hand in front of his mouth, and even seen from a distance, it was obvious that dark blood was running down his chin.

Blaise continued to scream in outrage, repeating over and over that his tooth had been knocked out of his mouth by whatever spell had been directed against him. His fury was directed in the face of poor Willowby, who clutched his wand in both hands, as if terrified that Blaise would tear it away and beat him over the head with it.

Lockhart and Snape descended on them at the same time, the first pale and making soothing sounds, and the latter silent with an amused smile on his lips.

“Now, now, let's just see what the damage is,” said Lockhart, trying to pry away Blaise's hand.

Blaise resisted him with all his might, and there was a brief struggle. Finally, Lockhart managed to pry his hand from his face, revealing Blaise's perfectly straight white teeth. Perfect, but for one missing tooth, right at the front, where only a black hole remained. Blaise's howls were more of outrage than of pain, though his face was covered in blood.

“Well, then. It's not so bad. If we can just find the tooth I can re-attach it in a jiffy.”

Lockhart began casting his eyes around the floor, searching for the missing tooth. Several students jumped back a few paces, as if afraid that Blaise's missing piece had skittered under their robes.

“I think,” said Snape coolly, “It would be far simpler to have Mr. Zabini visit the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey can regrow a tooth in minutes.”

“I'll take him,” Millie said, stepping forward from the crowd, “Not the first time I'll have to drag him to the hospital wing.”

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Bulstrode!” said Lockhart, “Now, be on your way, Mr. Zabini! And my regards to your mother!”

Blaise appeared not to have heard him, he was still screaming at Willowby.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It was an accident, I swear!” Ned stammered in response, “I-I'm not very good at jinxes! I didn't know what would happen!”

“You're not sorry! But you will be!” Blaise warned in a threatening voice. Millie took his arm and began to physically drag him from the room. Blaise continued to scream until he was out the door, shouting over his shoulder, “I'll kill you! _I'll kill you_!”

Harry made as if to follow his two friends, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Snape had caught him slinking away.

“I think it would be best to teach the children how to block spells,” he said, his dull voice doing more to command attention than any posturing of Lockhart's.

Willowby looked prepared to faint, but Lockhart took no notice of him, and clapped his hands together to restore his place as the center of attention.

“You're quite right! And I think another demonstration is in order!”

“Might I suggest a pair of students lead by example?” Snape said, and Harry felt a feeling of dread coiling in his stomach.

Lockhart directed a side glance at Snape. He seemed to be recollecting the previous incident, in which Snape had propelled him against the wall with a simple disarming spell. He seized on Snape's offer eagerly, and it came as no surprise to anyone that his grasp landed on Harry.

“Marvelous idea, Severus!” He said as he pulled Harry from the bystanders and hauled him onto the makeshift stage. “And I think Mr. Potter won't begrudge a little opportunity to stand in the spotlight!”

“No, I daresay he wouldn't...” Snape replied with a thin-lipped smile as he motioned for Draco to join him.

Harry knew he was in trouble. Lockhart was completely useless when it came to casting spells. Of that he was certain. He dropped his own wand while demonstrating to Harry a complicated twirling movement that was supposed to counter hexes. Harry, on the other hand, had learned quite a few jinxes from Millie, but she lived by the philosophy of “the best defense is a good offense,” and blocking techniques were not something that had ever come up in their private lessons. Harry watched as Snape whispered something in Draco's ear that made the blond boy grin malevolently, and he knew that Snape had something nefarious in store for him.

“There now, have you got it?” Lockhart asked Harry.

“Er...” Harry replied intelligently, having not absorbed a word of what was said.

Snape was already pushing Draco forward. Lockhart gave Harry a quick pat, saying “Not to worry, I'm sure you'll do just fine!” Then Harry found himself being shoved forward as well. He managed to catch himself before falling on his face, saving some of his dignity, and strolled toward Draco, feigning more confidence than he really felt.

The two boys stood face to face, raising their wands before them in imitation of their professors.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco asked as he flicked his wand to the side.

Harry smiled at him. “Are you?”

To Harry's credit, Draco looked slightly ruffled by this casual response. Harry spun away, relishing in Draco's confusion, and took his ten paces down the length of the table before turning to face his opponent.

Perhaps Draco wanted to catch him off guard, or maybe he was simply too excited, but Harry had hardly turned before Draco shouted, “ _Serpensortia!_ ”

From the end of Draco's wand burst a long, black snake. It fell to the ground halfway between them, angered by the force of the fall. It rose up, fanning out its hood and hissing at the students nearest to it. They screamed and shuffled backward in terror, pressing their bodies against the students directly behind them, who seemed torn between wanting to get a better look, and preferring to stay as far away as possible.

“Relax,” Snape intoned in his low voice, “I will remove it for you, Mr. Potter.”

“Allow me!” Lockhart exclaimed before Snape even had a chance to draw his wand. Harry knew something horrible was about to happen, and he was quite right. With another sweeping flourish of his wand, Lockhart sent the snake flying into the crowd of students, who screamed and fled as the snake dropped over their heads.

A space quickly cleared away from one student in particular. Harry saw Willowby standing alone, abandoned by those closest to him. The snake had fallen around his shoulders and was hissing and spitting in outrage very near his ear. Willowby was standing still, his face as white as parchment. One wrong move and the snake would realize the warm perch it just found would be perfect to bite.

“Excuse me!” Harry shouted at the snake, hoping to draw its attention away from Ned. The snake's head swiveled in his direction, piercing him with its beady black eyes.

Harry was confident that he could reason with it. It may be an enchanted snake that manifested from Malfoy's spell, but if it could understand him, then perhaps it would be no different than talking to Noodle.

“Hello there, sorry about all the fuss,” Harry said, not knowing if his attempt at a pleasant tone translated well into parseltongue. “No one here is trying to hurt you. This is all a misunderstanding.”

The snake flicked its tongue out and hissed, _Did you summon me?_

Harry thought it sounded decidedly unfriendly, so he replied, “Er, no. Not me. Actually, it's that bloke over there.”

He pointed to Draco, who looked like he was going to gag. The snake quickly slithered down from Ned's shoulders and began rocketing across the hall, straight at Draco. Perhaps it was looking for revenge, but with a wave of his wand, Snape had made the creature disappear to wherever it had come from.

Harry turned back to see how Willowby was faring after this near-death experience, but this time the boy really had fainted. Some students were crouched next to him, and they were all staring at Harry. In fact, all eyes in the Great Hall were turned toward him, and the room was deadly silent.

“Er, it's okay everybody!” Harry said, waving his hand to the crowd, “I talked to the snake and it was just a little miffed about the spell, is all. No harm done.”

Whispers broke out across the hall like the hissing of many snakes, and it was a language Harry understood as well as parseltongue. He'd revealed his ability to the whole school. If they didn't think he was the heir of Slytherin before, they certainly did now.

Harry felt a vice-like grip on his shoulder and was suddenly being dragged from the room. Snape pulled him into the hall, away from the Dueling Club. Harry could just make out Lockhart's fading voice as he tried to restore order to his audience.

Snape didn't say a word to Harry until they reached his office, where he shoved Harry roughly into a wooden chair in front of his desk. Snape remained standing before him, leaning against his desk for support and rolling his wand between the fingers of his right hand.

“You speak parseltongue,” he stated.

It wasn't a question, and he wasn't wrong. Harry said nothing.

“Why?” Snape demanded when Harry remained silent.

“Why can I talk to snakes? I dunno, I just can,” Harry replied.

Snape's nostrils flared in anger. “And how long have you been keeping this ability a secret?”

“I wasn't keeping it a secret,” Harry said, relying on a half-truth, “I've been talking to Blaise's snake all year.”

He didn't know if it was wise to admit that Blaise and Millie had been aware of his ability, but the truth was out now.

“How long?”

“Since forever, I guess. I once talked a snake into chasing my cousin Dudley at the zoo. That was fun. I hope he got to Brazil...”

“Brazil...” Snape mouthed. Harry read the word more than heard it.

“The snake, not my cousin,” Harry clarified, wondering if his story had confused the Potions Master.

A few minutes passed in silence, and Snape continued to stare at Harry as if he had sprouted horns from his head.

“I don't really see what the big deal is,” Harry finally muttered.

“The big deal, as you put it Potter, is that the ability to speak parseltongue is incredibly rare. It is a trait known to be possessed by Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“I know,” Harry said. Then he waited. Perhaps Snape was about to accuse him of being the heir. Or perhaps they both knew that theory was ridiculous.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry added, “But is it against the rules to be a parselmouth? Because if not, I'll just be on my way.”

He expected Snape to make some excuse, but to his surprise, Snape allowed him to rise from his chair and make his way toward the door. Snape only had one thing more to say to him, which he stated just as Harry was about to close the door.

“If I were you, Potter, I would be very careful about how I use that ability.”

Harry pretended as if he hadn't heard him, and continued out the door.

He knew that returning to the dueling club would be unwise, so he decided to see if Blaise was finished up in the hospital wing. He met him just as Blaise was heading out the door, his tooth fully regrown.

“Madame Pomfrey has this skele-grow stuff. Nasty, but it did the trick,” Blaise said, offering Harry a wide grin to show off his pearly white tooth. It was a slightly brighter shade than the others, but Harry was careful not to mention this fact to his extremely vain friend. Instead, he asked about Millie.

“Still inside. The cat, you know,” said Blaise.

“Right. Did you see Ned?”

“Do you mean Willowby? No, why?”

“I thought they might have brought him here,” said Harry, and he quickly recounted to Blaise what he had missed.

“So much for our secret language plan.” Blaise sighed.

“I can still teach you, if you want,” offered Harry, who wasn't so keen on being the only parselmouth in school while rumors about the chamber were spreading. “But it will have to wait. I need to find Ned and explain what happened. I mean, I practically saved his life, and he probably thinks I was egging the snake on or something.”

* * *

 Harry planned to talk to Willowby during their shared Herbology class, but it was canceled that week. Professor Sprout had to tend to the Mandrakes, and she didn't trust anyone else with the job as the plants drew closer to maturity. Harry did not want to wait. The winter holiday was quickly approaching, and he wanted to clear up any misunderstanding with Ned before then. He tried the library first, seeing as it was close to exams, and most of the student body was busy with their studies.

He was used to the stares and the whispered conversations that broke off abruptly as he passed. He didn't much care what his peers thought about him, and even amused himself by asking a few passerby if they had seen Willowby, just to see the horrified looks on their faces when he addressed them. It was funny, until he overheard a conversation near one of the back corners of the library.

It was a group of Gryffindor boys. They hadn't seen Harry prowling among the bookshelves, and so they continued their conversation in loud whispers, thinking they were unobserved. Harry recognized Ron Weasley at the center of the group.

“It's definitely Potter,” said Weasley as his friends nodded eagerly in agreement. “I mean, he's a parselmouth. How much more guilty can you get? Probably inherited from his great-great-grandad Slytherin. I've always said there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.”

“But the cat who was attacked belonged to Potter's friend,” said a boy who was leaning on the back two legs of his chair. Harry thought he recognized him from Potions class, but couldn't remember his name.

“That's just to throw off suspicion,” Weasley argued, “But Potter would have access to that cat, wouldn't he? And he wanted to send a message. Probably not satisfied with all the fame he got when his parents were killed. No, he wants to make a name for himself, and figured Heir of Slytherin had a nice ring to it.”

Harry wasn't surprised to hear the harsh words. He already knew that most of the school suspected him. At one time, Ron Weasley's negative impression of him might have hurt Harry. But now, with the memory of their first train ride to Hogwarts long behind him, Harry only felt a touch of malicious enjoyment as he stepped out from behind the bookshelf.

“What? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, isn't good enough?” he asked shamelessly.

Harry had to fight very hard not to burst into laughter at the looks of fear on their faces. Weasley's jaw had dropped to his chest, while the others whipped their heads back and forth between the two, as if expecting Harry to curse Weasley right then and there. Only the boy leaning back in his chair smiled, looking at Harry as if he wanted to congratulate him on a well-played prank. Harry wished he could remember his name.

Ron seemed to recollect himself under the suspenseful glances of his friends. Closing his mouth with a snap, he cleared his throat importantly, and replied, “Well, if it's not for attention, then you just hate muggle-borns. I suppose you got a distaste for them living with that muggle family of yours?”

“I don't hate muggle-borns,” Harry replied in a level tone, “If you ask me, pure-blood wizards are just as bad. Not unlike your own family, Weasley.”

Ron's face flushed as scarlet as his hair, and he stood abruptly from the table.

“If that's an attack on my father, let me tell you...”

“I don't even know your father,” interrupted Harry, “I was talking about you.”

He might have continued, but his eyes were drawn to a slight movement behind a bookcase in the invisibility section. Harry was certain he had seen Willowby's wide eyes watching him before ducking out of sight. Harry turned away abruptly and began to follow him, ignoring the outraged voice of Weasley behind him.

“Ned!” Harry called in a whisper.

The figure at the end of the row came to a stop before he could duck around the corner, and Harry knew that he had his man. He jogged up to Willowby's side and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning the boy to face him.

“Ned, I'm sorry,” Harry began in a hurry, trying to get out what he wanted to say before Willowby could try to run away again, “I wasn't trying make the snake attack. I just wanted him to leave you alone.”

“I know.”

“You have to believe that I would never... wait, what?”

“I know you were only trying to help, Harry.”

Harry's hand dropped from Willowby's shoulder and he took a step back. “But... You know I'm a parselmouth?”

“Of course. I was there, remember? The whole school must know by now.”

“But you aren't afraid of me? You don't think it was me who...?”

“You're not the heir of Slytherin, Harry. I would swear to it.”

Willowby seemed so confident. He was able to look Harry directly in the eye as he professed his belief in his innocence. But there was still something wrong. Willowby's voice was very quiet, even for speaking in the library. And he kept shuffling his feet, or breaking eye contact to look fearfully over his shoulder.

Something clicked in Harry's brain, and he asked, “If you're not afraid of me, then who are you afraid of?”

Willowby took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the sound coming out as a shudder.

“How well do you really know Zabini?”

“Blaise?” Harry repeated, flabbergasted, “I told you already, Blaise has nothing to do with any of this.”

“How can you be so sure? Everything people are saying about you, Harry... Couldn't it be true for Blaise as well?”

“Blaise isn't a parselmouth, I am.”

“I've seen him between classes, hissing at that snake of his. I didn't think of it before, because it was like people who meow at their cats, you know? But now...”

“He was probably just practicing. I've been teaching him and Millie how to do it.”

“But what if he could do it the whole time and he's just pretending?”

“Ned, I know he scared you when you knocked out his tooth, but it's fine now. He probably doesn't even remember it.”

Willowby shook his head back and forth, taking a few steps backward, away from Harry.

“I should have known you'd just defend him,” he muttered quietly.

Before Harry had time to respond, Willowby turned and sprinted from the library, drawing curious stares from the students he passed. Harry watched him go in shock, then felt hot anger rise in his stomach at the injustice of the accusation against Blaise. Willowby couldn't leave without giving Harry a chance to refute his allegations. Harry quickly followed him. He figured Willowby must be running to the safety of Ravenclaw Tower, and though he wasn't sure where the entrance was located, he felt fairly certain he knew the general direction, if he could just keep up with Willowby and follow him there...

Harry slammed into something warm and solid at a dead run, and fell onto his bottom with a heavy thud.

“Harry!” cried an all too familiar voice. Harry pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his sore rear as he looked into the bushy, bearded face of the gamekeeper.

“Hello Hagrid,” Harry said, fully prepared to dart away again, his mind on Willowby. However, his attention was caught by the feathered corpses dangling from one of Hagrid's enormous hands.

“Um, Hagrid? What are you doing?”

Hagrid lifted the limp forms for Harry to get a better look, which was entirely unnecessary for Harry's comfort. The dead, glassy black eyes of the chickens stared back at him.

“Someone's strangled my chickens. There isn't a soul left in the school. I'm off to report the incident to Dumbledore.”

“Oh, I see. Well, don't let me keep you,” Harry said, starting to move around his gigantic friend.

“Hold on there! What's yer hurry?” Hagrid called after him.

“I'll tell you after!” Harry called back, not wanting Hagrid to delay him another second. If he hurried, he could still catch up with Willowby before he made it to his common room. Rumor had it that Ravenclaw students didn't have a password for their dormitories. Instead, they had to answer a riddle. Harry was hoping that Willowby would be waylaid by a particularly difficult puzzle when he once again found himself toppling to the floor, this time falling forward. He had the briefest, most curious sensation of being doused in ice water before smacking both of his knees on the hard stone floor. He cried out in pain, wincing at the thought of the bruises that were sure to form, and turned to see what had tripped him.

He saw Willowby first. The boy was laying on the floor not two feet from him. He was on his back, his eyes wide open and his face in an expression of pure terror. Harry had never seen anything so frightening in his life, minus his revolting encounter with Voldemort the year before. Desperate to focus his attention on anything other than Willowby's pitiful face, he glanced upward, and saw what had caused the curious freezing feeling.

It was a ghost. He must have passed through her body when he fell. It took him a moment to recognize the figure. Her usual pearly white appearance had turned dark, like smoke, and she was hovering a short distance from Ned, horizontal and unmoving. It was the Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw house ghost.

Harry was suddenly terrified. Willowby had been fine only moments ago. Whatever had done this had worked fast, and might at that moment still be in the corridor, lurking in shadows. Harry tried to calm the panicked gasps escaping his mouth and focus his attention on listening. He heard nothing. No mysterious voice whispering threats... Only the faint murmur of students in their afternoon classes.

Thinking of the other students made Harry keenly aware of how bad his situation was. If someone found him like this, the rumors surrounding him would seem to be confirmed. How many students had seen him chase Willowby out of the library? Harry needed to get away from there, and fast.

He jumped to his feet, ignoring the sting in his knees, and took several hurried steps back down the hall. He only made it a few feet before he stopped an turned back. Willowby and the Grey Lady were in the same spots, still staring blankly into space. Harry couldn't just leave them there. The Grey Lady was already dead, but what if the Heir came back to finish the job it had started with Ned?

Thinking quickly, Harry reached into his bookbag to draw out his invisibility cloak, thankful that he had resumed his old habit of carrying it with him. He threw the cloak over his head, secure in the fact that if the Heir or someone else did come along, he would be out of sight and suspicion. Then he raised his wand and muttered, “ _Tumultum._ ”

Instantly their was a loud BANG that reverberated along the silent corridor. Harry heard some screams of surprise from the nearest classrooms, and a moment later Professor Sinistra had opened her classroom door to investigate the source of the noise. She gasped when her gaze fell on the two bodies, and she quickly tried to prevent her students from seeing. But many curious eyes were already crowded to peer around her, and all along the corridor heads were poking out of half opened doors. In a flash, the hall was crowded with people, all of them murmuring darkly. A few of the girls had started crying. Harry saw their Ravenclaw robes and wondered if they were friends of Willowby, or if like him, they were merely scared of what this meant.

Harry pressed himself as flat as he could against the wall as the hall continued to fill. He sidled along, trying very carefully not to trod on the hem of his cloak, and finally managed to break free of the throng at the entrance to the stairway. He spared one last glance behind him, comforted to see Professor McGonagall arrive on scene. Confident that Willowby would be taken care of, he hurried down to the relative safety of the Slytherin common room. 


	28. Malfoy Manor

After the attack on Willowby, there was a great rush of students eager to leave the school for the holidays. In fact, it was doubtful many of them would return once their parents were notified of the attacks made on two students.

Millie and Draco were among the minority who remained. Harry and Blaise urged Millie to accept Blaise's invitation. While it would be beneficial to have someone keep an eye on Draco, it was more important that their friend remain safe. But Millie reminded them that she was a pure blood, not to mention a member of Slytherin House. She felt perfectly safe staying behind to spy on Draco. Harry was less sanguine. Colin Creevy was a Slytherin as well, although muggle-born, and he had been the first attacked. But no amount of reasoning worked on Millie, and in the end, Harry and Blaise boarded the Hogwarts express without her.

In spite of Harry's concern, he was nevertheless thrilled to see Mrs. Zabini again. She met the boys at the station, driven by Torsh as usual, and embraced Harry with the same warmth she used to greet her own son. For a moment, Harry forgot the troubles plaguing Hogwarts as he piled into the car's spacious backseat, fighting for Mrs. Zabini's attention as he and Blaise proceeded to talk at once, both filled with stories from their first term.

“I'm glad to hear you're both enjoying yourselves,” Mrs. Zabini said, turning hear head toward them from her place in the front seat, “It's good to know you're excited about something in the midst of such terrible news.”

Harry and Blaise exchanged a glance. Obviously, Mrs. Zabini had heard about the attacks at the school. Harry opened his mouth, hardly knowing what he was planning to say, but Blaise spoke first.

“Mum, it's not as bad as you think.”

“I'm not going to punish you, Blaise, so don't look so frightened,” Mrs. Zabini said with a laugh, “You'll have time to improve next term.”

Harry and Blaise exchanged another glance, this time baffled by her reaction.

“The results of your exams arrived this morning,” Mrs. Zabini added, perhaps noting their confused silence, “Your potions grade is slipping.”

“Potions?” Blaise said with a slight gasp as he realized his mother was speaking of something completely different than their expectations. He quickly added, “But Mum, you know Professor Snape is a tyrant. He's probably lowered my grade just because he knows I'm friends with Harry.”

“I don't want to hear any excuses, Blaise. Your father was excellent with potions. What would he think if his son failed the class?”

“I hardly think I'm failing, Mum.” Blaise said with a pout, “And I know for a fact that I've got the best score in Charms.”

“That goes without saying,” Mrs. Zabini said with pride.

She asked a few more questions about Harry's grades. His results had been sent to the Zabini residence as well, though she had the politeness not to open them. Then she lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, making occasional comments to Torsh about the menu she wanted for their holiday dinner.

Harry and Blaise didn't dare say what was on their minds, but a look from Blaise was enough to confirm Harry's own thoughts. Mrs. Zabini did not know about the attacks at Hogwarts or the Chamber of Secrets. If she had been informed, surely she would have more pressing concerns than a few poor grades.

They had assumed everyone's parents would be informed after not one, but two students were petrified. It was strange to Harry that Mrs. Zabini should remain in the dark, and he even entertained the notion that Dumbledore was trying to cover everything up. Perhaps he was worried that he would be forced to close the school. But this explanation didn't hold up, as the students returning home for the holidays were sure to tell their parents everything.

Other students, but not Harry or Blaise. Harry had spent enough time around Mrs. Zabini to know how protective she was of her son. If she considered Hogwarts dangerous, there was no way she would let him return for second term. They had assumed the school already told her of the attacks, and were prepared to soothe her worries as best as they could. But if Hogwarts neglected to inform her of the Chamber of Secrets, then neither Harry nor Blaise would be the one to break the news.

It was easy enough to talk of other things. Soon after arriving at the house in Ascending Downs, Blaise asked his mother if she planned another party like last year.

Mrs. Zabini offered him an apologetic smile. “Ah, about that. I have some news for you that I'm afraid you won't like.”

Harry braced himself, fearful that Mrs. Zabini knew something of the Chamber of Secrets after all.

Instead, Mrs. Zabini simply stated, “We won't be throwing a party this year. The Malfoys have invited us for dinner at their manor instead.”

Blaise immediately opened his mouth to protest, and Harry was on the verge of an exclamation, but Mrs. Zabini held up a hand to silence them.

“I don't want to hear it. The invitation is already accepted. You're both going, you will be on your best behavior, and we're all going to have a wonderful time.”

Harry and Blaise snapped their mouths shut, knowing it was pointless to argue, though privately Harry felt that it would have been better to remain at Hogwarts, after all. The thought immediately reminded him that Draco was still at school, and although he would be forced to spend the evening with his parents, at least he could escape Draco's boasting the whole night.

* * *

 

Harry and Blaise raced each other down the stairs Christmas morning. Harry could already smell the delicious aroma of the breakfast Torsh had prepared for the occasion. The fragrance tempted Harry's feet toward the kitchen, though he remembered to stop by the front hall to wish the portraits of Blaise's step-fathers a Happy Christmas.

“Happy Christmas!” chorused the portraits in response to Harry's greeting. Somehow they had all managed to dress in festive hats and garlands of holly leaves. Harry wondered if some wizard artist did commissions for painted finery, and if so, if the business offered much of a living.

He filed the question away to be asked later. The call of breakfast was too strong to resist any longer, and he and Blaise were soon enjoying a hearty meal while waiting for Mrs. Zabini to join them.

She wandered down a predictable half-hour after the boys had been awake, looking tired but still as glamorous as ever. Harry watched Blaise, and Blaise watched his mother. He said nothing until she had pulled down a bottle from among her many potions. Pouring a bit of the solution inside in her morning coffee, she lifted the concoction to her lips, drank it down, and gave a slight shudder. Blaise appeared to be waiting for this slight sign.

“Presents?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Presents,” Mrs. Zabini confirmed with a smile as she poured another cup of coffee.

Harry and Blaise bolted from their chairs and dashed to the drawing room. Mrs. Zabini did not trail far behind. She seemed to have a burst of energy unconnected to the coffee in her hands.

“What is that potion she takes?” Harry whispered to Blaise, hoping he wasn't being impolite.

“Pepperup potion,” Blaise murmured back, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I tried some once without asking. Didn't sleep for three days. Now I'm not allowed near the potion cabinet.”

Harry had to stifle his laughter, not wanting Mrs. Zabini to become suspicious of his curiosity. Instead, he had time to gasp at the number of presents under the tree this year.

Harry was still unaccustomed to presents. Blaise always had several from his mother and distant relations, but Harry had learned after years with the Dursleys to expect little, if anything at all. Last year had been a pleasant surprise when he found a racing broom from Mrs. Zabini, as well as gifts from Hagrid and Millie under the tree. Those humble gifts had felt extravagant to a boy like him. But this year there appeared to be twice as many gifts as before, and Harry realized rather breathlessly that he had just as many presents as Blaise, who kept passing box after box to him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Here's one from the muggles, Harry,” Blaise said, carelessly tossing Harry a small, rather shabby package.

“Let me see that,” Mrs. Zabini said sharply, thinking at the last minute to soften her voice and add, “Please.”

Harry, surprised that they would send him anything after what happened last summer, handed the package to Mrs. Zabini. He didn't much care what was inside. Knowing the Dursleys, it was probably an old tea cozy, or perhaps a single sock. Mrs. Zabini did not bother opening the gift. She merely read the attached note with a look of disgust, and promptly threw both it and the parcel into the fire.

“Well, at least you won't have to deal with them anymore, Harry. Not after I'm through.”

Harry was mystified at her meaning, but he hadn't time to ask. Blaise had just opened his final gift, and he asked in a tone of dread, “Dress robes?”

“For dinner tonight.” Mrs. Zabini explained, “I bought Harry a set as well. I hope they fit.”

“But mum, _dress robes_?”

“It's the Malfoys, dear,” Mrs. Zabini said with a wave of her hand, as if this was explanation enough.

Blaise rolled his eyes and Harry asked, “Have you been there before?”

“Once,” Blaise said, darting a glance toward his mother which told Harry they had to watch what they said, “It's pretty gloomy if you ask me.”

* * *

 

 Blaise wasn't wrong about Malfoy Manor. It was gloomy.

Harry supposed it was an impressive edifice, in its own way. With its sweeping grounds and seemingly endless rooms, all sporting tall, clear windows, it screamed Old Money. Perhaps if it housed a larger family, more like the Weasleys, its tall ceilings would have echoed with many cheerful voices, and the fire would seem to cast a warmer glow. But for a family of three, with the only son being away at school, it seemed too large and too imposing to ever be comfortable.

As Harry was escorted through the door into the cold, stark entryway, Harry was pleased to learn that theirs would not be a small party. Mrs. Malfoy greeted them herself and quickly led them to a dining room where many of the guests were already gathered.

It wasn't merely a disinclination to be social that led Harry to rejoice at the number of guests. Harry and Blaise needed the Malfoys distracted in order to carry out their plan. They had talked as they dressed for dinner, and reasoned that with Draco at Hogwarts, this dinner party, however unwelcome, was a prime opportunity to do some sleuthing. There was a good chance Harry could meet Dobby again, and if he could manage to get the elf away from his masters, perhaps Harry could wheedle some information about the Chamber from him.

And so Harry managed to smile through the introductions to Malfoy's friends with as much good humor as he could believably fake. He thought he would recognize more faces from Mrs. Zabini's party last year, but clearly the Malfoys and the Zabinis had few friends in common. The names and faces presented to Harry were all unfamiliar to him. Harry shook everyone's hand, even though most returned his polite greeting with unfriendly stares, and some with poorly concealed malice. Harry was used to stares from the students at school, and he had learned to face Snape's open dislike with poise, if not amusement. But he was not equal to these unnerving glances from perfect strangers, and so it was with more than a little anxiety that he sat down to dinner.

He felt embarrassed to be given a place of honor on Mr. Malfoy's right hand. It was meant as a compliment to him, he was sure, but he would have preferred to sit at the other end of the table, near where Mrs. Zabini was talking to Mrs. Malfoy with fond familiarity, Blaise on her other side. Instead, he was forced to listen to a man named Yaxley complain to Mr. Malfoy about the continued raids at the ministry.

“That Weasley is getting to be a damned nuisance,” he was saying through mouthfuls of a Christmas ham. “Every week it's something new. I'd like to tell him the Aurors aren't his to boss around, but he has the full support of the Minister, so there's not much I can do.”

“You're a smart man, Yaxley. In spite of appearances,” Mr. Malfoy said with a slight smirk, “I'm sure you can think of a way to shut up Weasley.”

“Shut him up? When it's all I can do to keep the damage he's doing at a minimum?” Yaxley gave short, harsh laugh, exposing the half chewed food in his mouth in the process. “You're welcome, by the way. Weasley would love an excuse to come snooping around here, but I've kept him in check for you.”

“You and I both know that there's nothing here to interest Arthur Weasley,” Mr. Malfoy said quickly. He directed a furtive glance at Harry that even he understood. Mr. Malfoy clearly didn't want him hearing too much.

Mr. Malfoy changed to subject to some new bill that was being discussed at the ministry. Harry was beginning to think that Mr. Malfoy did not like Yaxley very much, and wondered why, if this was true, the man should be invited to the dinner party. He cast his eyes around the rest of the table, and was disturbed to see as many eyes directed right back at him. It seemed all of the guests were watching him closely. Harry shifted his attention elsewhere, looking for something to distract him from the creepy wizards ranged round the table.

That's when he spotted the elf. Dobby was moving steadily around the room, serving the desert course as unobtrusively as possible. Harry tried to catch his eye, but the elf was nervously avoiding his gaze. He didn't even glance up at Harry as he set a treacle tart in front of him.

Harry didn't dare say anything to Dobby with Mr. Malfoy seated so close. He ceased his close scrutiny of the elf and pretended not to notice him, all the while keeping tabs on him through the corner of his eye. Harry saw Dobby slip away, taking a left turn into the hall, just before Mr. Malfoy broke into his train of thought.

“There have been some interesting new developments at Hogwarts, I hear,” he said, his face turned to Harry with an unreadable smile.

Harry snapped to full attention, turning to face Mr. Malfoy and attempting to mimic his bland expression. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to reply, so he waited for Mr. Malfoy to continue.

“Draco has been writing to me, you know,” said Mr. Malfoy, “It is a shame what has been happening. A very cruel prank.”

Harry sent a swift glance down the table to see if Mrs. Zabini had heard any of the conversation, but she was still deeply engrossed in some piece of gossip Mrs. Malfoy was sharing with her. Blaise, however, seemed to have caught something of what was said, and was doing his best to eavesdrop from his end of the table without being noticed.

Satisfied that Mrs. Zabini was distracted for the moment, Harry countered Mr. Malfoy by stating simply, “I don't think it is a prank.”

“Oh?” Mr. Malfoy said, lifting one of his pale brows, “And what makes you so sure?”

“It's been opened before, hasn't it?” Harry said casually. He knew he didn't need to elaborate for Mr. Malfoy to understand.

“Has it? I was unaware,” Mr. Malfoy said unconvincingly, “But prank or not, how very concerning that Dumbledore hasn't done anything to address the issue yet.”

Harry said nothing. He had thought the same thing after the attack on Willowby and the Grey Lady. But as yet, Dumbledore had said almost nothing about the issue.

“I happen to be one of the governors for the school, and I must say we are very concerned. If things get much worse... Well, perhaps someone else would be better suited to take charge of Hogwarts.”

“Maybe Dumbledore hasn't done anything yet because he's close to capturing whoever's behind the attacks,” Harry said, feigning more confidence in the headmaster than he actually felt.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes gave a flash of annoyance. “And who do you think the culprit might be?”

Harry shrugged, “If I knew, I would have told Dumbledore already.”

“Come now, you must have some idea. Draco is already fairly certain of who it is.”

Harry could feel his hair standing on end. A quick glance at the faces around him revealed that many of the side conversations had ceased. He felt as if Mr. Malfoy was testing Harry, and Yaxley, along with a several others, took too much interest in their conversation. Even Mrs. Malfoy's voice faltered, and Harry could see Mrs. Zabini turning his way, a look of concern on her face.

“I...” said Harry, uncertain of how to respond. He wasn't sure what reaction Mr. Malfoy was looking for, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Thankfully, he caught Mr. Malfoy off-guard.

“Oh, yes... Of course,” he said, even as Harry was already taking his leave.

He didn't have any idea where the water closet was in the vast manor, but it didn't matter. He didn't actually have to go. All he wanted was get out of whatever trap Mr. Malfoy had been laying for him. Out in the hall, away from the staring faces of Malfoy's friends, he could breathe easier. Harry remembered Dobby, and decided now was as good a time as any to track him down.

He found Dobby in a small study on the first floor. The elf had been shining a large, ornate mirror when Harry came bursting in impatiently. Seeing Harry Potter in the reflection of the mirror, Dobby gave a startled yelp, and nearly tumbled off the mantle he had been using to reach his target.

“Careful!” Harry cried, nearly reaching for his wand before he remembered that he hadn't brought it. He and Blaise weren't allowed to do any magic outside of school, and so they had left them at home. Instead, Harry made a mad dash toward the fireplace, thinking to steady the elf or catch him if he fell, but to his great surprise, Dobby merely floated gracefully down from the shelf and met Harry on the ground, looking up at him with a mixture of terror and respect.

“Dobby thought Harry Potter would come find him. But Harry Potter should not have come here.”

“I'm not supposed to be at Hogwarts, but I shouldn't be here. Which is it, Dobby? Where exactly can I go?” Harry said, not with irritation, but with ironic amusement.

“Harry Potter has too many enemies here,” Dobby said sadly, “It is not safe.”

“Trust me, Dobby. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. I need to ask you again about the Chamber of Secrets.”

Dobby's lower lip quivered. He twisted his old, dirty pillowcase in his hands.

“Dobby can't! Or rather... Dobby does not know about the Chamber. Dobby only knows of a foul plot, and that Harry Potter could be killed if he remains at Hogwarts!”

“I'm not the only one who could be hurt!” Harry argued. Dobby flinched, and Harry realized he was raising his voice. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Harry tried another tactic.

“It's fine if you can't tell me about the Chamber, but you said something about a plot? I know it has something to do with the Malfoys, and I'm not asking you to confirm that. I know you couldn't even if you wanted to.”

Harry paused, half-expecting some sort of protest from Dobby about the innocence of his masters. But Dobby was silent, and continued to stare at Harry with his large, green eyes. He seemed to be begging for Harry to understand.

“Does it have something to do with the raids the ministry has been doing? Can you tell me that much?” Harry asked, thinking back to the conversation he had heard at dinner.

Slowly, very slowly, Dobby nodded his head, his bat-like ears drooping slightly.

“The ministry is searching homes for signs of dark magic,” Dobby said deliberately, as if choosing his words very carefully. “My master... my master has many items in his possession that he would rather the ministry not see.”

“So he tried to get rid of one by sending it to Hogwarts,” Harry said, the pieces finally falling together, “Whatever is happening now is connected to a dark magic relic. Maybe it's the key to opening the Chamber! Dobby, do you know what it was?”

But Dobby was starting to look terrified again. His hand nervously reached for a fire poker near his side. Harry, worried about the damage Dobby might do to himself if he had such a dangerous instrument, quickly snatched the fire poker away, holding it behind his back.

“Dobby doesn't know! Dobby doesn't know!” said the elf, trying to reach for the poker even as Harry held it out of reach, “Dobby only knows it was evil. Something that was once held by He Who Must Not Be Named!”

Harry almost blurted the name aloud, so surprised was he to hear Lord Voldemort mentioned. Dobby's concern for him suddenly made more sense. If Voldemort was somehow connected to the attacks at Hogwarts, then Harry was more of a target than the other students, having defeated the evil wizard before.

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said, and the sentiment was genuine. He knew now that Dobby meant well, however unwanted his previous attempts at helping Harry had been.

Dobby was in paroxysms of delight by these simple thanks. He was so happy to have Harry's gratitude, he completely forgot he was supposed to be punishing himself for revealing his master's secrets. In fact, he was so pleased he tried to give Harry a hug, but Harry, still uncomfortable around the strange creature, gracefully declined.

Dobby's pleasure went unchecked, and he added with a shy expression,“There is more.”

“What?” asked Harry, his curiosity peaked by the elf's sudden tonal shift.

“Dobby's master has a very great collection. He could not remove it all from his home. There were some that were too precious to sell.”

“You mean he has more... relics?” Harry asked. He knew Dobby must be choosing his words carefully in order to tell Harry this, and Harry tried to do the same, not wanting to compromise the elf and cause him trouble.

Dobby nodded, this time vehemently. “He keeps them hidden, sir. Those things that are too valuable to part with entirely.”

“And... where might he go if he needed to fetch one of them?” Harry asked.

Dobby's lips remained shut tight, but he finally left off staring at Harry, and directed his eyes to the floor under their feet.

* * *

 

Harry rejoined the party moments later, feeling triumphant. He was no closer to discovering the Heir, but he had plenty of information to guide him. He knew he should be scared, knowing that somehow this was all connected to Lord Voldemort, but instead he only felt excited, and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he found Blaise and the others gathered for a fireside chat in one of the grand parlors.

“ _What took so long?”_ Blaise hissed at Harry in parseltongue, earning startled glances from those guests nearest to him and Harry.

Harry's grin became a smirk as he saw their alarm, and he was grateful that he'd taken the time to give Blaise a few lessons.

“ _Tell you later.”_ Harry hissed briefly. He wanted to tell Blaise all, but parseltongue was a difficult language to master if you did not possess the gift naturally. So far Blaise only knew a few broken phrases, and Harry wanted to be able to share what he had learned clearly.

“Shame about the elf,” Harry said, knowing Blaise would understand him, and that anyone listening in would take no notice in their conversation about a house elf. “He really doesn't compare to Torsh, does he? Even their clothing is different.”

“That's the mark of an elf's servitude,” Blaise said, sounding only half interested but directing a look at Harry which told him he perfectly understood that Harry's meaning.

“But,” he added in an undertone, “It's also shows you how some wizard families treat their inferiors.”

“Couldn't they just leave if they are treated badly?” Harry asked.

Blaise shook his head, “It's the clothes. They can't leave unless their masters present them with clothes. That's why they all dress that way.”

They stood together in silence while Harry mulled this over. Even without speaking, having Blaise by his side served as an effective barrier, keeping other curious guests at bay, and allowing Harry to have time with his own thoughts without being tested again by Mr. Malfoy or one of his friends. Finally, Harry formed a resolution.

“Do you think it would be possible for me to borrow Mephistopheles when we get back?” Harry asked, referring to the Zabini family owl. “I'd use Hedwig, but I think she would stand out too much.”

“Sure,” said Blaise, looking intrigued, “But what's the occasion?”

Harry smiled enigmatically. “I need to send a letter to the ministry.”

 


	29. The Polyjuice Potion

Dobby had made it clear that Mr. Malfoy sent something evil to the school, and Harry would not have been surprised to learn that the dark relic once belonged to Lord Voldemort himself. But he still didn't know what it was, much less how it was used to open the Chamber of Secrets and control the beast within.

Blaise believed that Mr. Malfoy sent the item to school with his son, and that Draco stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays to further his nefarious plans. Harry was having trouble reconciling his image of Draco with the enigmatic persona of the Heir of Slytherin, but he could no longer deny the probability of Blaise's opinion being true.

Dying to share everything with Millie, their steps led them immediately to the Slytherin common room. They asked a couple of second year girls to fetch their friend from her dormitory, but the girls informed them that Millie hadn't been there when they took up their things. They had no idea where she was.

Harry and Blaise were faced with a moment of indecision. They could simply wait in the common room for Millie's return, but without knowing when she would be back, they were faced by the prospect of many precious minutes wasted.

Then Harry had the sudden realization that Draco had been conspicuously absent since their return. He felt his stomach tighten when he recalled that Millie had been left in a near-empty school with him all break. What if Draco caught her keeping tabs on him, at Harry's request, and even now she was laying petrified in some hidden corridor?

He didn't need to voice half of these worries for Blaise to understand his concern. They quickly agreed that splitting up in search of their friend was the best course of action. Harry chose to venture out to Hagrid's, while Blaise opted to check the library.

They planned to meet in the common room in an hour, then they parted ways. Harry knew he had plenty of time to search, but his anxiety to find Millie caused him to jog most of the way to Hagrid's cabin, ignoring the large drifts of snow that settled across his path at this time of year. He couldn't help but notice that his were the only footprints headed down to Hagrid's hut, but he hoped that the wind had covered any tracks Millie might have left coming down for a morning cup of tea.

He was destined to be disappointed. Hagrid was home, but there was no Millie in sight. Hagrid was pleased to see Harry, though he noted with a touch of sadness that Millie had hardly visited him at all during break. Harry asked when he last saw her, and Hagrid thought it had to have been during the Christmas Feast, a small affair this year between Dumbledore, some select faculty members, and the few students, including Millie, who chose to remain for the holidays.

“Was Malfoy there, too?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide some of the worry in his voice.

“He weren', come to think on it,” Hagrid said, thoughtfully stirring a ladle around a porcelain jug that served as his teacup, “An' Millie didn' stay long, either. I remember she was lookin' mighty pale that night, an' said she had summat to do back in her dorm. Poor thing. She been so down after Mammon... Well, can' say I blame her. Don' know what I'd do if the same thing happened ter Fang.”

Hagrid's boar-hound gave a low whine and rested his head against Harry's knee. Harry wasn't sure if this was a sign of sympathy or if he was merely begging for one of Hagrid's rock cakes. He surreptitiously dropped his cake to the ground, where the dog began to gnaw on it as he would a bone.

Harry thanked Hagrid and made his apologies for the short visit, but his hour was already nearly spent. The fact that Hagrid hadn't seen Millie since Christmas, nearly a week ago, had Harry deeply concerned. Without classes to attend on a regular basis, Millie's absence could have gone unnoticed an entire week.

His fear for Millie's safety needed an outlet. Harry was just starting to think he would like a chance to give Draco a piece of his mind, or better yet, a punch to his face, when the object of his dislike appeared before him. Draco emerged from the Great Hall just as Harry passed by its massive doors, and upon seeing Harry in the corridor, his face darkened. He made a beeline toward Harry, looking very much like he had a similar quarrel to pick with the Boy Who Lived.

“Did you send a letter to the ministry about my father?” Draco demanded without preamble.

Harry's anger was momentarily checked by surprise. He had indeed sent a letter, but it contained only an anonymous tip about the location of Mr. Malfoy's dark magic artifacts. He didn't expect Draco to have heard about it already.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he lied.

Draco's pale face flushed red with anger. “My mum said that the ministry sent officials to raid the manor. _My_ manor!”

“Well, they've been raiding plenty of homes lately,” Harry said, remembering the conversation he'd heard between Yaxley and Mr. Malfoy over break, “Perhaps it was your father's turn.”

“This is an absolute outrage, and a slanderous attack on my family's name!” Draco continued, sounding as if he were quoting directly from the letter he'd received from Mrs. Malfoy, “If I find out you had anything to do with this, Potter, I'll...”

“You'll what?” Harry asked, dropping his voice as low as his twelve-year-old vocal chords would allow. He took a step toward Draco and stared directly into his eyes, silently daring him to make a move.

Draco lowered his gaze and immediately backed down, taking a few steps backward. Harry felt nearly revolted to think that this shrinking coward was in fact the Hair of Slytherin. It was still too hard for him to accept. He might have revealed his suspicions then and there, demanding from Draco the truth about his family's hand in the attacks at Hogwarts, but other figures were beginning to approach them, trickling into the hall for afternoon tea.

One voice cried out in tones of shock and dismay, “What? Still here, Potter?”

Harry and Draco turned to see who it was, and were met with the bright red hair, long nose, and freckled face that was unmistakably Ron Weasley. He was flanked on either side by two of his Gryffindor companions, boys that Harry now recognized as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Behind them was Ron's younger sister, Ginny, who gazed at Harry and Draco as if they were demons to be hated and feared.

Bolstered by the support of friends and family at his side, Weasley continued, “I thought they wouldn't allow you back after the holidays. Haven't you caused enough trouble?”

His friends chuckled at Weasley's barbed comment, but it sounded forced. They were looking at Harry with as much fear as young Ginny.

“I can't speak for Potter, but I would have left the school if I'd known you Weasleys would turn up again,” Draco spat quickly. Harry's mouth nearly fell open in shock. A moment ago, Draco had been threatening him. With what, Harry wasn't sure. But now, in the presence of a common enemy, Draco was quick to jump to Harry's defense. The reversal was dizzying.

And Draco hadn't finished. While the color mounted on Weasley's face, he continued, “I'd have thought blood-traitors such as yourselves would be too frightened of the Heir to return.”

In his anger, Ron's eyes flashed toward Harry and settled there.

“Is that why you're here now?” Weasley asked, his question directed more toward Malfoy than Harry, “Asking the Heir himself to take care of a few enemies for you?”

“You aren't my enemy, Weasley,” Draco said drolly, “You barely have my attention.”

Weasley's hand twitched, and Harry knew he was itching to draw his wand on them both. Harry wasn't interested in a fight with Weasley, but he wasn't about to stand there and take a curse lobbed at him for an argument he hadn't started. Harry was faster at drawing his own wand, and he pointed it threateningly at the group of Gryffindors.

Perhaps a fight would have broken out then and there, had not Ginny stepped forward. She was staring with absolute terror at Harry, his wand directed at her brother, but still she jumped between them, heedless of her own safety.

“C'mon, Ron,” she muttered quietly, “Let's just go.”

Harry could tell that the stereotypical Gryffindor bravado was urging Weasley to fight. Harry had as good as challenged him to a duel. But as Ginny continued to urge him, tugging at his arm and adding, “Please, for me,” he relented. With a silent motion to his friends to follow him, Weasley trudged past Harry and Draco, not deigning to give them a backward glance.

Harry stuffed his wand back into the pocket of his robes as Draco rolled his eyes.

“I tried to tell you about him last year, didn't I?” he asked, “Bet you wish you'd listened to me now.”

He must have caught the dark look Harry directed toward him, because Draco quickly shut his mouth before saying more. He seemed to recall that only moments before Weasley's arrival, he had been attempting to threaten Harry, himself.

“Look,” said Draco, changing his tactic, “I didn't mean all that stuff I said before, alright? I was just upset about the raid. But well, that's all Weasley's fault, isn't it? Him and that father of his! I'm sure Blaise would understand what I'm saying. How would he feel if someone came snooping around his mother's house? I mean, with all those dead husbands of hers...”

“Shut up,” Harry said, his voice now flat. “Don't talk to me. Don't talk about Blaise. And you sure as hell shouldn't talk about his mother.”

“Calm down, Potter,” Draco said, his familiar sneer returning to his pointed features, “You can stop with the tough act now. We both know you'd never sick the beast on a pure-blood.”

“How do you know? You don't know a thing about me,” said Harry, “But the one thing we both know is that _I'm not the Heir of Slytherin_.”

He didn't wait to see if Draco understood his insinuation. The whole ordeal with Weasley had wasted too much time, and he still hadn't found Millie. Harry made his way back toward the common room, hopeful that Blaise had had more luck, and furious about the conversation he'd just endured.

He was relieved to see Blaise and Millie together as he approached the hidden common room entrance. They were standing in the hall, sharing a quick, quiet conversation as Harry approached.

“Thank god you're both here! You won't believe what Draco just did!” Harry exclaimed as he drew close.

His friends practically jumped out of their skins, and they turned to look at Harry with wide, almost panicked eyes.

“Potter!” shouted Millie, taking a few steps back.

Harry was so happy to see her, he had almost given her a hug. Instead, he dropped his arms, looking at her in confusion. He knew Millie wasn't a fan of public displays of affection, but her reaction seemed a little over-dramatic.

“Potter?” he repeated, more hurt than insulted.

“Erm, hello Harry,” Blaise said awkwardly, trying to smooth over the strange greeting.

“Hi?” Harry said. There was something wrong with his friends, but Harry couldn't understand what had happened. He found himself deeply curious to know what they had been whispering about before his arrival.

Harry decided not to inquire directly, and instead asked them, “What are you two doing standing in the hallway? The common room is right there.”

He pointed to the tapestry that hid the common room entrance from sight.

“We, uh, don't know the password,” Blaise said.

“It's been changed after the holiday,” Millie added, sounding slightly out of breath.

“It's _boomslang_ ,” Harry said, looking at Blaise in particular, “Gemma told us when we got off the train, remember?”

Blaise gave an uneasy laugh. “Oh, right! I forgot. Silly me.”

Harry stared at him and Millie both. He couldn't shake the feeling that his friends were hiding something from him, and the anger he felt a moment ago when talking with Weasley and Draco was overshadowed by the pain he felt thinking that his friends might not trust him.

“Right...” Harry said slowly before turning to face the common room door. He gave the password, and the hidden door soon revealed itself, the stones reforming into a hard wooden door. Harry led the way into the Slytherin common room, and his friends soon followed.

Harry tried to ignore their strange behavior, too angry with Draco to stay silent for long. He needed to talk about what just happened, and he didn't have anyone else to confide in but these two. After all, the rest of the school thought he was the Heir of Slytherin.

But as Harry approached the fire, turning his back to the flames to warm himself, he saw the expressions on the faces of his two friends, and wondered if they too were now starting to suspect him.

“What were you talking about?” Harry asked, attacking the issue directly.

“Nothing,” Millie said, a bit too hurriedly. “What did you want to tell us, Harry?”

“In a minute,” said Harry, gathering his thoughts for a more thorough assault. If his friends suspected him, he wanted to know for sure before he confided his worries to them. “I want to know what your thoughts are.”

“About what?” asked Millie.

“About everything,” Harry said with a wave of his hand, as if this simple gesture could encompass everything that had happened in the school since the Chamber of Secrets was opened. “What do you think we should do?”

Blaise exchanged a glance with Millie, then he said cautiously, “We were just talking about that. If only we knew who the heir was, we could put a stop to it.”

“You don't have any ideas about who it could be, do you?” Millie asked.

“You know I don't,” said Harry, watching her face for some sign of her true thoughts.

They exchanged another glance. Then Millie said, “Well, most of the school thinks it has to be a Slytherin. It's Salazar's house, after all. Maybe one of our housemates is the suspect. Has anyone said anything suspicious?”

“You're more talkative than usual,” Harry commented. He was growing more suspicious. Blaise seemed to be deferring to Millie on everything, and he had none of his usual swagger. And Millie was acting far too bold, though her tone was softer than usual.

Harry was about to question them more, when the door to the common room suddenly swung open, and Harry stared at another Blaise and Millie, identical to the two in front of him.

As Harry tried to make sense of what he was seeing, Blaise and Millie turned to stare at their newly-arrived doppelgangers.

“The hell?” Blaise said, staring at his own face.

The Millie who had just walked through the door was quicker to act. She hit her double in the face with a well-aimed curse, and the first Millie fell to the floor in a full-body bind.

“Hermione!” cried the first Blaise, unable to stop himself, and the real Blaise hit him in the chest with another spell.

The impostor fell back, having been struck by a stunning jinx. He was knocked unconscious by the force of the spell, and for a moment, Harry, Blaise, and Millie stood staring at one another, in shock over what had just happened.

“I thought they were you,” Harry said, “You are you, aren't you?”

“I'm me,” said Blaise shakily, “But who are are they?”

He pointed his wand at the image of himself, murmuring, “ _Revelio_...”

Nothing happened. The doppleganger remained unconscious on the common room floor, unchanged.

“Well, it's not a spell,” said Blaise, “Could be a potion. We'll have to wait for the effects to wear off.”

“This one is Granger,” said Millie, referring to the bossy Gryffindor student from their Potion's class.

“How can you be sure?” asked Harry.

“He said _Hermione_ ,” she replied, “How many Hermiones do you think go to this school?”

“What is she doing looking like you? Blaise asked.

Harry looked around the common room. Thankfully, they were alone in the chamber, but he knew it was a tenuous privacy at best. Any moment now, someone could come down from their dormitory, or walk through the common room entrance.

“I don't know what they were doing, but we're too exposed here. We have to move them.”

“How are we going to move two people out of the common room without anyone noticing?”

“I have an idea,” said Harry. He ran up the steps to his dormitory and threw open the top of his trunk. He searched quickly among his belongings, pulling his invisibility cloak from its hiding place. He was back in the common room before his friends could even begin to regret his absence.

“Levitate them,” Harry commanded his friends. Without objection, Blaise pointed his wand at the double of himself, while Millie did the same to the girl they suspected of being Hermione Granger. They cast the charm, and soon the bodies were hovering eerily a few feet above the ground. Harry directed them to move the bodies closer, and once they were hovering a few inches from each other, side by side, Harry threw his cloak over the two forms, and they vanished from sight.

“Alright,” said Blaise, tucking his wand into the roomy pocket of his robes without breaking his concentration. Millie followed suit. “Now they're hidden. But where are we taking them?”

Harry thought quickly. They needed a place where they wouldn't be interrupted, and where no one was likely to come in unexpectedly. Their dormitory was not an option, as Dracocould interrupt them right in the middle of an interrogation. An empty classroom was equally risky, as any passing ghost or teacher would find them out. They needed to someplace outside of the school grounds...

Then the idea hit Harry.

“The forest,” he said.

Blaise and Millie exchanged skeptical looks. The Forbidden Forest was, well... Forbidden. Like the third floor corridor last year, the forest surrounding Hogwarts was off-limits to students. Harry knew that Hagrid, as gamekeeper, would sometimes troop off into the woods, but it was said to be filled with many creatures that would happily devour a few tiny students.

It was precisely because students were not allowed, and most too afraid to go near the woods, that Harry was certain they would not be discovered. His friends agreed, seeing the logic of this plan, though Millie hesitated a moment, suggesting that they take the impostors to Snape to be dealt with instead.

“No way!” Blaise argued, “Not until I know who stole my face!”

And so Harry led the way. Blaise and Millie followed, their wands still trained on the invisible forms in front of them. With Harry in front, it was easy for them to maneuver through the castle without their charges being detected. Most students cleared a path for Harry these days.

They were soon on the grounds, Harry following the same footprints he'd made before while going to Hagrid's. If anyone spied them now, he could simply say that he and his friends were on their way to visit the gamekeeper. Just before reaching Hagrid's door, Harry veered right, directing his friends into the nearby cover of trees, and using his own wand to blast away the footprints left in the snow.

The thick covering of trees overhead kept the forest floor mostly clear of snow, though there were wet patches on the ground where some of it dripped down from the branches. Harry found a dry spot sufficiently deep in the trees to avoid detection by any curious eyes, but close enough to Hagrid's cabin that he felt safe from any prowling beasts. Once stopped, he moved his hands through the air near where Blaise and Millie's wands were pointed. He felt the light material of his cloak brush his hands, and whipped off the thin covering.

It was only then that he realized they hadn't stunned Granger. She was still stiff as a board, the full-body bind Millie used as strong as when it was first cast, but her eyes swiveled in her head, looking at them all with dread. Harry cursed. Now she knew about his cloak, and that was not something he was sure he wanted anyone to know about, outside of Blaise and Millie. If the student body knew he had a way of moving about the school undetected, the rumors about him would spread even further.

There was no helping it now. He reached into the pockets of their robes, removing their wands, then motioned to Blaise and Millie to release them from their jinxes. Millie waved her wand dismissively while muttering a counter-curse, and Granger came falling to the ground, at the same time shouting “Ow!”

Blaise was more gentle with his doppelganger, perhaps not liking to cause harm to something that bore such a striking resemblance to him. He lowered the body gently to the ground, and at another sign from Harry, uttered a charm to revive a stunned body.

He came to with a groan, and Harry could see that the effects of whatever potion they had used were already wearing off. The hair of Millie's double was starting to frizz, while the skin of Blaise's double grew lighter by degrees.

“Longbottom!” Blaise gasped as the transformation reached a point where the Gryffindor student could be recognized. “Riders of Rohan! What in bloody hell are you doing looking like me?”

Neville Longbottom cringed and rubbed the back of his head. It had smacked the ground after Blaise hit him with the stunning spell. Rather than answer, he looked at Granger sheepishly, as if deferring to her leadership.

Granger was busy glaring directly at Harry, and he could already guess what they were doing.

“They think I'm the Heir,” Harry said to his friends, not breaking eye contact with Granger, now wholly herself again. “They were trying to get information from me.”

“I know it's you,” Granger said, her usual bossy tone ringing loud and clear in the quiet forest, “I just don't know how you've done it yet.”

Harry turned from her to look at Longbottom.

“Neville,” he said, “Is that what you think, too?”

There was a time last year when Longbottom had helped Harry with a spell to defeat a Devil's Snare. He hadn't talked much to Longbottom before, or since, but he remembered the Gryffindor student's help, and hoped that Longbottom had more faith in him than Granger.

Unlike his companion, Longbottom couldn't meet Harry's gaze for long. He quickly looked away, and muttered something about helping Hermione.

“But how did you do it?” Millie asked, referring to their strange transformation.

Granger hesitated, but seeing as they had been found out, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Polyjuice Potion.”

Harry had never heard of this potion before, but Blaise perked up.

“Hold on,” he said, “My mum's mentioned that before. It's supposed to be really difficult to make.”

“Hermione made it,” Longbottom said. He appeared slightly more confident now, as if proud to brag about the accomplishments of his friend, “It took months, but she did it perfectly.”

“Well, not perfectly,” Granger said modestly, “I had hoped the effects would last a bit longer.”

“You need a bit of the person you want to turn into, right?” Blaise said. Harry thought he actually looked impressed, “How'd you manage that?”

“I took a strand of your hair off your robes during the dueling club,” Granger told Millie, tossing her mousy brown hair with a look of defiance, as if daring Millie to jinx her again. Harry could see why she'd been sorted into Gryffindor. If he had no wand, and Millie was directing hers right at him, he'd be too terrified to admit to something like stealing her hair.

“What about me?” asked Blaise.

Longbottom looked embarrassed. He stared at his feet and pulled at the dead leaves resting on the forest floor.

“W-Well... Remember when Willowby knocked out your tooth? It landed near my feet, so I...”

“Disgusting!” Blaise said. His look of admiration was gone. Now he looked as if he wanted to hit the Gryffindor. Longbottom scooted closer to Granger, as if relying on her for his protection.

“Leave him alone!” Granger commanded, “I asked him to do it. I wanted to put a stop to the attacks on muggle-borns!”

“And you thought getting me to confess was the surest way to do it.” Harry stated with a sigh. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but you have the wrong guy.”

“You're a parselmouth, just like Salazar,” Granger countered.

“And?” said Harry, prompting her for more evidence. When she paused, he continued, “My mother was muggle-born, you know. I have no reason to hate them. Or you.”

Granger continued to glare at him, clearly not convinced. Harry sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at Blaise and Millie for support.

“We've been trying to find out who the Heir is, too,” Blaise stated, “And over break, we learned something that suggests it could be Malfoy.”

Granger's powerful glare faltered.

“How do we know we can trust you?” she asked, her eyes still on Harry.

Harry thought it over. There wasn't much he could say or do to change her mind. But she had already seen and heard too much. He could threaten her, say he would go to Snape and reveal her polyjuice hijinks. But somehow, Harry felt that having Granger as an ally would be wiser than making any more enemies.

“I can tell you something no one else knows,” Harry said, deciding to take a chance on the pair of Gryffindors, “Only Blaise and Millie have heard me mention it before.”

Granger stared at him, her silence an agreement that he should continue. He saw some of the hate die in her eyes, and felt hope that maybe she would believe him.

“I've heard a voice. Not all the time, but a few times now. When I hear it, an attack always seems to follow. I think it's related to the Chamber, but I haven't told anyone, because I seem to be the only person who hears it. I thought people would think I was crazy.”

“It does sound crazy.” Granger agreed.

Longbottom spoke up, his face partially hidden behind Granger, “I believe you.”

Harry was surprised. He couldn't help but ask, “You do?”

“Sure I do. You can talk to snakes, right? So if it's a voice only you can hear, maybe it's a snake, and that's what's guarding the chamber.”

“Neville, you're a genius!” Granger gasped. Longbottom blushed and lowered his face again.

“Yes!” Granger continued, “I thought it was possible before, because the serpent was Salazar's familiar. And he was a parselmouth, so it would make sense for him to have a creature only he could control. That's why I thought it was so likely to be you, Harry, but now I'm not so sure... Oh, but if you heard a voice, then that must be it!”

“But what sort of snake could do that kind of damage?” Blaise asked.

Harry thought back to Lockhart's book, _Gambling with Gorgons_. The image of the woman, her hair alive with serpents, came to mind again, and he gave an involuntary shudder.

“I'm not sure, but I bet I could find out. I might even be able to discover how it's getting around the school undetected,” said Granger. She seemed thrilled at the prospect of so much to research. But just as quickly as it appeared, her enthusiasm cooled, and she looked at Harry shyly.

“That is... If I'm not expelled first.”

Harry stared at her in mute silence before he realized what she was implying. He quickly returned her and Longbottom's wands, apologizing as he did so.

“I'm not going to report you,” he said reassuringly, “Not if you think you can help us.”

Granger and Longbottom accepted their wands, twirling them between their fingers in an embarrassed silence. Longbottom turned to Granger, a look of indecision on his face.

“What do you think, Hermione?”

Granger bit her lip, staring at her wand before looking up toward Harry again.

“What's that you were saying about Malfoy?”


	30. The Very Secret Diary

After their meeting in the Forbidden Forest, Granger and Longbottom found any excuse to talk with Harry. Granger seemed to forget whatever suspicions she previously held, and was now alive with research. She would approach Harry several times a day, slinking up to his table during meals, waving Harry toward her between classes, and even breaking tradition to select the seats nearest Harry in Potions class, though this placed she and Longbottom deep within Slytherin territory.

The reason for this constant interruption was simple. Granger wanted to test her many theories about the beast within the Chamber with Harry, and often stopped to ask his opinion on a particular kind of serpent, or an idea of how it could be moving about the castle.

“I think we should question Noodle about it,” she said one evening, after dragging Longbottom to the Slytherin table and forcing him to sit next to Millie.

“Her name isn't Noodle. It's Ouroboros,” Blaise said, clearly irritated. Harry knew he didn't approve of the Gryffindors' inclusion in their circle.

But either Granger didn't notice his hostility, or she simply didn't care. Instead, she smiled widely.

“Oh! Like the snake that swallows its own tail! That's clever! Did you know it's an ancient symbol of infinity?”

“Yes.” Blaise said shortly, stabbing a fork into his meal with more force than necessary.

“Anyway, I think if it really is a snake, then maybe Ouroboros has heard it too. Have you tried asking her about the voice, Harry?”

“Er, no...” Harry said awkwardly. The truth was, it had never occurred to him to ask Blaise's pet. They had only recently surmised that Slytherin's beast must be a snake, and Harry had been too busy trying to convince his friends that it was worth while to have Granger on their side, and not to put a hex on her or Longbottom.

“Well, what's stopping us from trying now? Blaise, do you have your snake with you?”

“She's in the dorm. Sleeping,” said Blaise flatly.

Millie was now shooting Harry a look, warning him to send the Gryffindors away. At first, Harry thought she was merely annoyed by Granger and Longbottom interrupting their evening meal. But as Harry followed Millie's gaze, he noted that several students from the other houses were stealing glances in his direction before turning and whispering to their friends.

Of course, this was not a new experience for Harry, but he knew that the tide of gossip had turned toward Granger. In the days following their forest interview, rumors about Hermione Granger began to circulate. She was a known muggle-born, hanging around the assumed Heir of Slytherin.

Harry did not admit as much to Blaise or Millie, but he had grown to admire Granger. Like her disregard for Blaise's open hostility, she didn't seem to care what the school said about her.

But although Granger was unaffected, he could tell the general attention put a strain on Longbottom. Blaise seemed to resent his presence even more than Granger's, and Harry did not doubt it was due to Longbottom stealing his likeness with the polyjuice potion. He had demanded several times to know what Longbottom planned to contribute to their mission, and poor Neville had never been able to stammer out more than a few incoherent words before Granger would interrupt with a new theory. Harry was distressed to see that Longbottom appeared to fear Blaise as much as Willowby had before he'd been petrified.

To make current matters worse, he didn't like the looks Draco Malfoy was shooting toward them from his end of the table. Harry didn't want to cause a scene during dinner, so he excused himself, stating that he would go back to the dorm and question Blaise's pet straightaway.

“You'll tell us what you find out, won't you?” Granger asked, practically spinning all the way round on the bench to get a look at Harry as he passed by.

Harry promised he would, though he didn't think Noodle would have much to share. If she had sensed anything that could harm either her master or his friends, she would have told them about it already. Still, he left them with a wave of his hand, and made his way down to the Slytherin common room alone.

It took a few minutes of searching before Harry located Blaise's snake. She had slithered her way into his pillowcase and was taking a nap. Harry gently hissed a greeting to rouse her, not wanting to startle a sleeping serpent and risk getting a bite. Hagrid had assured him that Noose Pythons weren't venemous, but Harry wasn't keen on getting bitten, all the same. As Ouroboros - sometimes called Noodle - drowsily wound herself around Harry's hand, Harry questioned her about the voice.

Noodle shook her head slowly. She had not heard any whispering about the castle, and she wasn't sure if any other snakes had the ability to petrify.

 _You could ask the spiders,_ she added softly.

“ _Spiders?”_ Harry hissed back, wondering if he had misunderstood. But this was not likely. He was a natural parselmouth, after all, and heard Noodle's words not as a hiss, but in clear English.

 _They've been restless. Something has them scared,_ Noodle said.

_“Do you know what they're afraid of?”_

Noodle merely shook her small head again, a habit she had learned from watching Harry and his friends. _I don't speak spider._

Harry sighed. He couldn't talk to spiders, either. Harry thanked Noodle for her help and gently placed her in his pocket, where the sleepy snake curled up for another long nap.

Harry decided to wait for the return of his friends in the common room. He wasn't hungry, and felt no desire to return to the Great Hall. If anything, he looked forward to a few moments of peace and quiet without Granger, Malfoy, or any other students to worry about.

He settled in front of the fire, warming himself near the crackling flames. He was just staring to think that Noodle had the right idea, and that a nap sounded like a grand plan, when his eyes fell on something in the embers of the fire. He peered closer, and realized it was a small, leather-bound book.

Harry pushed himself off the sofa and knelt in front of the fire, confirming his initial impressions. It was a book. And though it sat right in the middle of a steady blaze, it appeared unburnt.

Curious about what sort of enchantment was on the book, Harry searched for a poker to knock it out of the fire. Then he remembered he was a wizard, and rolling his eyes at his own lapse of thought, he drew out his wand and levitated the book out of the grate.

He let the book fall to the ground in front of him, worried it would be too hot to handle. But curiosity won out, and he reached a hand slowly toward the book. It wasn't hot. In fact, it was oddly cool to the touch.

Harry eagerly picked it up and opened to a page in the middle, but it was empty. He flipped through the pages, moving first to the front of the book, then to the back, but it was the same on every page. All blank.

Harry rested his back against the sofa, still seated on the floor, and looked at the book with a frown. Why would someone want to burn a book that didn't have anything in it?

He inspected the pages again and noted a name that had been inscribed inside the front cover.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Harry read aloud, sounding the middle name out slowly. Marvolo was an odd name, to be sure, but Harry's attention was struck by another inscription, this time on the back cover.

“Vauxhall Road,” Harry read underneath the name of a bookshop. The book was a common mass-produced journal, and whoever this Tom was, he picked it up in a muggle store.

Harry was more bewildered than ever. Other than Colin Creevy, there were not many students in Slytherin House with muggle parents. Most either came from families boasting pure-blood lineage, or else had two magical parents, like Harry. And yet the book must belong to a Slytherin student, otherwise it would not be in the Slytherin common room.

Harry flipped to the front cover again and stared at the name. He was sure he would remember hearing about a student with a name like Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Just then he heard the common room door swing open, and turned to see Blaise returning alone.

“Where's Millie?” Harry asked.

Blaise jumped in fright and clutched at his chest dramatically.

“Gimli's axe, Harry!” he shouted once he saw his friend crouched behind the sofa, “Don't scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, his apology undermined by his grin.

“Millie is talking to Professor Sprout. Apparently the mandrakes are nearly mature enough to be brewed into a potion,” Blaise said in answer to Harry's question, “What are you doing down there anyway?”

Harry held the book above his head for Blaise to see, “Someone threw this into the fire. It's not burnt, so it must be enchanted. But it's blank.”

“Let me see,” said Blaise, jumping over the back of the sofa and taking a seat just above Harry's place on the floor.

He took the book from Harry's hand an opened it to a random page. Harry watched as Blaise drew his own wand and pointed it at the book's center.

“ _Aparecium,”_ Blaise said. But the book remained the same.

Blaise frowned and handed the book back to Harry.

“Don't know what to tell you, mate.”

* * *

 

Harry decided to share the diary with Granger and Longbottom. Granger was, after all, one of the smartest witches in Harry's year, though she was a Gryffindor and terribly nosy.

“I think the owner might be muggle-born,” Harry said as he passed the book to Granger over breakfast the next day. “It says it was purchased in Vauxhall Road. But I don't know of anyone in Slytherin House named Tom Riddle.”

“And you wouldn't,” Hermione said in a matter-of-fact way as she flipped to the back cover and read the inscription, “This book is fifty years old.”

“What?” Harry and Blaise asked in unison.

Hermione flipped the book toward them and pointed to a date beneath the bookshop's address. Harry felt exceedingly stupid. How could he have missed that detail before?

“What's a fifty-year-old blank diary doing in a fire in the Slytherin common room?” Blaise asked aloud.

No one had an answer to his question. Harry merely shrugged his shoulders while Granger looked thoughtful. Only Millie, who had been silent since Harry mentioned the book that morning, glared at the leather-bound pages and said, “I think whoever threw it into the fire must have had a good reason for doing so. You shouldn't mess with things like that, Harry. It could be cursed.”

Harry wasn't convinced. Nothing bad had happened to him since he found the book last night, and he couldn't see any harm in someone's blank journal.

But Granger nodded in agreement with Millie.

“She's right, Harry. The book is clearly protected by magic, and it isn't wise to mess with something when you don't understand how it works.”

Harry could see the sense in their argument, but Granger's words were betrayed by the look of interest in her eyes. She handed the book back to Harry, all the while staring at its cover as if it would divulge its secrets any moment.

“Although,” she added after a slight pause, “It could hide something very interesting. After all, someone took the trouble of charming it, didn't they? Perhaps if we asked one of the teachers...”

Harry didn't like the idea of relinquishing his book to a professor. He had been the one to find it, and he felt rather jealous of the discovery. He was trying to think up an excuse to delay his friends, when they were interrupted, quite extravagantly, but the appearance of Gilderoy Lockhart.

He did not arrive quietly. Bedecked in robes of the most lurid pink, he waved his wand in the air with unnecessary flourish, and with a loud bang numerous large, equally hideous pink flowers burst from the walls. Several students screamed in shock, and Harry nearly fell out of his chair. He spun around to see the source of the commotion, and was in time to witness the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher give another twirl of his wand, and heart-shaped confetti began to fall from the pale blue ceiling overhead.

“Oh no...” muttered Blaise, “Today isn't...”

“Happy Valentine's Day!” Lockhart shouted to students and teachers alike. Harry glanced at the faculty table and saw that Professor McGonagall seemed to have been petrified herself. Snape looked as if he'd never be happy again, but then again, he always looked like that.

Meanwhile, Lockhart continued with his little speech, thanking the admirers who had sent him cards, and boasting about the surprise he had prepared for everyone.

He waved one of his pink-clad arms to indicate the decorations, then suddenly clapped his hands. At this signal, a dozen surly-looking dwarfs came marching through the entrance to the Great Hall. Harry saw with a pitying stare that Lockhart had them all wearing little golden wings. In each of their hands, they carried a harp.

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” Lockhart boasted with pride. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentine's!”

The appearance of Lockhart and his troop of would-be cupids was unwelcome, but at least it distracted the others from Harry's book. Blaise hurried everyone off, conscious of a dwarf who was holding a particularly large stack of cards, and who seemed to have his eye on him.

Throughout the day, classes were constantly interrupted by the appearance of one of these messengers, and the cards were read aloud to a chagrined recipient. Blaise was not able to dodge the herald of his fans for long. The dwarf from the great hall caught up to him in Potions class, and began a sonnet composed for him by a secret admirer. Mercifully, Snape would not stand for this disruption, not even to humiliate one of Harry's friends. He swiftly expelled the little man from his classroom. But the dwarf, determined to earn his paycheck, simply waited in the hall until the end of class, and Blaise was forced to submit to no less than eight professions of love from his fellow students.

Perhaps the attention, under normal circumstances, would have stroked Blaise's already considerable ego. But the awareness that this admiration found its vent through a plan of Lockhart's dampened his enthusiasm for the holiday as a whole, and he did nothing but complain. Harry and Millie, neither of whom received a single valentine, did not envy him.

Harry, free from the distraction of unwanted valentines, was able to ponder the mystery of Tom Riddle's diary at leisure. He thought of it during Potions class, while Snape berated Blaise, as if it was his idea to throw the Valentine's festivities. He thought about it over the mid-day break, where Granger and Longbottom once again joined them for a meal, and Millie accused Granger of being one of Lockhart's groupies. Harry was still thinking about the book at the end of the school day, as he sat bored in his History of Magic lesson.

He found himself wishing that Professor Binns would talk of something useful, such as famous wizards by the name of Riddle who may have once enchanted a diary. But the ghostly professor only droned on and on about the Goblin Revolt. Professor Binns never took notice of his students, and Harry was sure he could run some tests on the book, as Granger had suggested, without attracting his attention. But Harry did not know as many clever spells as Blaise, and he was not as good at counter-jinxes as Millie. Feeling frustrated, Harry flipped the book open to a random page, and began absentmindedly doodling on a corner.

He was attempting a caricature of Draco Malfoy. His drawing was not as good as Millie's, who seemed to be practicing all the time, but he thought the pointed nose and beady eyes a very good likeness. He was in the process of drawing the flat, over-gelled hair when the image faded away. Harry stared at the page in disbelief. He flipped to the page behind, almost believing that the ink had been absorbed by the back pages, but this appeared just as clean as the first.

Harry tried again, this time doing a quick sketch of Noodle. The looping lines of the snake's body were quickly rendered, and Harry had time to finish drawing a little forked tongue before the serpent also faded away, as if the ink were being sucked into the page.

Harry smiled at this discovery. The pages must be full of writing, but they were hidden within the pages themselves. If he could find a way to draw the words back out of the parchment, he should be able to read whatever had been written within.

Just as he was thinking this, he was surprised to see words slowly appear in the middle of the page. This time, the ink seemed to well up from the book itself, like blood from a fresh wound, and it sat there, glimmering in the light as if it were freshly written.

 _Cool snake,_ it said.

Excited, Harry wasted no time in scribbling his response.

_Thanks._

The words faded back into the page. Harry wondered if the book was somehow communicating with him, or if it were one of a pair. Perhaps whatever he wrote in the journal appeared in another book, and whatever the other owner wrote in response appeared on his side. Harry figured it was plausible. Nothing about the wizarding world would surprise him at this point.

 _Though it isn't your best work,_ said fresh words that appeared as soon as Harry had given his thanks.

Harry frowned. _My best work? What do you mean?_

There seemed to be a pause, as if the person writing to Harry from the other side of the pages was thinking, or just as confused as he.

 _Who is this?_ They finally asked.

Harry hesitated. He didn't know who was on the other side of this strange message. He suddenly recalled Granger and Millie's warnings about cursed objects. He wasn't sure if he should reveal himself or not. Deciding to err on the side of caution, he quickly scribbled out a response.

_My name is Draco Malfoy._

It was the first name that Harry could think of, or at least it was the first name not connected to someone he actually cared about, like Blaise or Millie.

Another brief pause, then the words appeared again.

_Malfoy. I know that name. Very old family. It's a good name._

Harry rolled his eyes. So his conversation partner was one of those simpletons who put too much stock in pureblood lineage. Harry was suddenly not sure he wanted to speak with them, until the words of the first message faded away, and a new sentence appeared in its place.

_My name is Tom Riddle._

“Harry?”

Harry slammed the book shut, startled out of his intense focus on the page and fearful lest someone discover what he was doing. He looked up to see only Blaise staring at him.

“Class is over, mate. What were you doing with the book?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, not sure why he told the lie, even as it tripped across his tongue. “I was just taking some notes.”

Blaise raised a skeptical brow and looked pointedly at the leather-bound cover.

“In that thing?” he asked, “Didn't Granger say it wasn't a good idea to mess with it? We don't know how it works.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, thinking privately that he had discovered exactly how the book worked, and was eager to try it out some more. But his friend's wary suspicion would be likely to halt his investigations, so he thought he would keep it a secret for now. Instead, he simply stated, “It was only a few notes. What harm could it do?”

* * *

 

Later, when Harry found himself alone in his dormitory for a few moments, safety hidden by the curtains of his fourposter, he opened Tom Riddle's diary again. The words had faded away, just as he expected they would. Dipping his quill into the well he had balanced carefully on his bedclothes, Harry scrawled out a message again.

_Hello, Tom. Are you there?_

He didn't know how long he might have to wait. After all, Tom purchased this book nearly 50 years ago, by the date on the cover. Harry expected the old man might be in bed at that moment. But to Harry's surprise and relief, the answer came right away, as if Tom had been waiting to speak to him again.

_I am always here. Is that you, Draco?_

Harry flinched at the sudden recollection. He'd nearly forgotten the alias he'd given Riddle. Regretting his decision, but feeling safer keeping his own well-known identity a secret, he supported the lie.

_Yes, it's me. What do you mean, you're always here?_

_The diary. It's mine. I've recorded my memories in it. My past._

Harry blinked at the words on the page, hastily reforming the theory he'd imagined before. Riddle was not speaking to him from through a twin journal. Riddle was speaking to him from the past.

 _Someone tried to burn your diary,_ Harry wrote after meditating on this new information. _I found it in the fire._

 _I'm not surprised,_ came Riddle's immediate reply, _I always knew there were some who would not want this diary read._

This was cryptic enough to entice Harry, who began to hope of learning something interesting about the mysterious owner of the journal. He quickly scribbled out a response, asking Riddle why someone would attempt to destroy his diary.

Once again, Riddle's response came without hesitation, as if he had been waiting for this very question.

_Have you heard of the Chamber of Secrets?_

Harry paused. The interest he'd felt only a moment before had been replaced by sudden skepticism. It couldn't be a coincidence that the subject foremost in Harry's thoughts for weeks should suddenly be mentioned by the memory of someone who attended Hogwarts fifty years before Harry. Adrian Pucey had claimed that the Chamber had been opened once before, and he shared this in front of a whole room of Slytherins. And Harry had found the diary in the common room, where anyone could have left it.

Writing his response after a little more deliberation, Harry stated, _I have. But how do I know this isn't some prank?_

Tom's words were not as quick to form as his previous answers had been. For a moment, Harry believed that he had caught someone in a lie, and that the diary was nothing more than an elaborate hoax to prey on frightened students. But the next instant, the words came again - black, shining, and ominous.

_I can show you._

Before Harry could think of a response, or consider the import of these words, the pages began to move on their own, as if blown by a high wind, though there was no breeze. When the movement stopped, Harry was able to read the date on the page as June 13th. A spot of black ink welled darkly in the middle of the page, not forming words so much as a blot. At first, Harry thought there had been a mistake, but then it seemed to him that he could see something moving in that inky blackness. He picked the book up with both hands, moving the ever growing stain closer to his eyes for inspection.

Suddenly, he felt his body tipping forward, as if his entire bed had tilted, sending him catapulting forward. As insane as it was, Harry felt as though he had fallen right through the pages of the diary, and was careening down in a whirl of text and shadow.

He did not land face-first on the stone floor of his bedroom. Instead, he landed on his feet, shaking and confused, but otherwise unharmed. As the blurred forms around him came into focus, Harry understood where he was immediately, though he was less certain of how he arrived there.

It was the headmaster's office, but it was not Dumbledore seated behind the familiar desk. He certainly looked old enough to be Dumbledore, but his head was nearly bald, except for a few wispy white hairs. He was reading a letter by candlelight, and seemed very tired.

Harry waited in silence, thinking of what excuse he would make when the man inevitably looked up and demanded to know what Harry was doing there.

But the anticipated moment never came. The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, and without appearing to notice Harry, walked right past him to close the curtains before his window. Then he returned to his desk, sat down, and stared at the door. Harry was standing directly in front of it, and yet the man was certainly not looking at him. It seemed as if he was staring right through him.

Harry realized then what was going on. The man did not see Harry because Harry didn't exist yet. Or rather, he hadn't existed then. This was Riddle's memory, and Harry was seeing Hogwarts as Riddle remembered it.

There was a knock on the office door, and a boy entered. He looked to be about sixteen years old, and was much taller than Harry. But like him, the boy had jet black hair and wore Slytherin's green robes. A coldness that Harry couldn't account for swept through him at this slight resemblance, but he ignored the feeling as he noted the shining silver prefect badge glinting on the boy's chest.

This was the owner of the diary, and for a moment, Harry half expected him to turn, notice Harry, and speak to him. But Riddle stared fixedly at the wizard behind the desk, as locked in this memory as everything around him.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle.

“Sit down,” replied Dippet, “I've just been reading the letter you sent me.”

Harry watched as Riddle obeyed the command. Feeling confident that he could not be observed by these phantoms of the past, Harry dared to draw close Riddle's side, and could see the boy's nervousness in his tightly clenched hands.

“My dear boy,” Professor Dippet began, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” Riddle retorted at once, “I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that... To that...”

Professor Dippet appeared to take pity on Riddle's struggle. He completed Riddle's thought by asking, “You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry felt this heart throb at this new discovery. Here was yet another resemblance between himself and the owner of the diary. They had both lost their parents.

“You are Muggle-born?”

“Half-blood, sir.” Riddle clarified, “Muggle father, witch mother.”

Professor Dippet pressed him to continue, and Riddle elaborated further, “My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me. Tom, after my father. Marvolo after my grandfather.”

Professor Dippet clicked his tongue and said, “The thing is, Tom, special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances...”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle.

Harry's breath quickened. In his sympathy for the boy's plight, he nearly forgot why Riddle had brought him into this memory in the first place. It all came rushing back to him when he heard of the attacks, and he fixed his eyes on Professor Dippet, certain he was about to learn about the Chamber.

“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy... The death of that poor little girl... You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the, er... source of all this unpleasantness.”

At the mention of closing the school, Harry returned his gaze to Riddle, who had gone pale, his eyes wide.

“Sir... If the person was caught... if it all stopped...”

“What do you mean?” asked Dippet with a slight squeak to his voice, “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir.” said Riddle quickly, but Harry could read the doubt in his face as easily as Dippet probably could himself.

They sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence, Dippet scrutinizing Riddle's face for any sign of cracking. But Riddle remained impassive, his pale face becoming as still as marble. Finally, Dippet sat back in his chair with a sigh, and dismissed Riddle from his office.

Harry followed Riddle as he slipped out of the room. Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle Harry recognized from the present day. Here Riddle suddenly stopped. Harry could tell he was thinking. He bit his lips, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though suddenly making a decision, he hurried off down the hall. Harry rushed along behind him, his running feet making no sound. They passed no one until they reached the entrance hall, where a tall wizard with long, auburn hair and beard to match called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?”

Harry couldn't help but gawk when he realized who the man was. It was none other than a fifty-year-younger Albus Dumbledore.

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle.

“Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle the same penetrating stare Harry had come to recognize from his own encounters with the headmaster. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since...”

Here he sighed, wished Riddle a good night, and strode off without another word. Riddle watched him walk out of sight before moving again, heading straight toward the stone steps to the dungeons.

Riddle led Harry to the very dungeon where Snape held his potions classes. The torches were unlit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could barely see him in the dark. He stood perfectly still, watching the passage outside.

Harry did not know how long they waited, but it felt like nearly an hour. It seemed his body could not become fatigued in a memory, but he often found himself holding his breath for longer than he believed to be possible, waiting for something to happen. Finally, he heard a noise beyond the door.

Someone crept along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he hid with Riddle. Quiet as a shadow, Riddle edged through the door and followed.

For another few minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle suddenly stopped. He inclined his head in the direction of a voice. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“C'mon... gotta get yeh outta here... C'mon now... in the box...”

Harry's blood ran cold. He recognized that voice.

His arm shot out to stop Riddle as the boy jumped around the corner, forgetting in his panic that he could neither be seen nor felt by a memory. Harry followed after him, crying out for Riddle to stop, his voice heard by no one. He was brought before a figure, just an outline in the dark, of a huge boy who crouched in front of an open door. There was a very large box next to him.

“Evening Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

“What yer doin' here, Tom?”

“It's all over,” Riddle said, stepping closer, “I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop.”

“What d'yeh...”

“I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and...”

“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking sound.

“Come one, Rubeus,” Riddle said, moving closer still, “The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered...”

“It wasn't him!” roared the boy in a panic, his voice echoing in the dark passage, “He wouldn'! He never!”

“Stand aside,” commanded Riddle as he drew out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. Out of the darkness of the open door came something that made Harry scream.

A large, low, hairy body and a tangle of black legs. A gleam of many eyes, and a pair of razor sharp pincers. That was all Harry could make out in the gloom before Riddle raised his wand again. Too late, as it turned out. The thing bowled over him as it scurried away, tearing down the corridor and out of sight in an instant. Riddle scrambled to his feet, searching after it. He raised his wand again, but the other boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, shouting as he did so.

The scene whirled around him, and darkness fell over everything. Harry felt himself falling upward, and with a crash, he landed on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, spilling the contents of his forgotten inkwell all over his bedclothes. Riddle's diary lay open on his stomach.

Before Harry had time to process what he had just seen and learned, he heard a voice on the other side of his closed curtains. A moment later, they were pulled aside, and Blaise looked down at Harry in confusion.

“Harry? Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yes,” said Harry, the single syllable all he could manage at the moment.

“Are you alright? You don't look so good.”

But Harry couldn't answer him. He didn't know how to tell his friend that it was Hagrid who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.

 


	31. Partings

Harry had known that Hagrid was not supposed to use magic since the first time they'd ever met, though he had never asked his large friend about the circumstances of his expulsion, out of respect for his feelings. Now Harry almost resented Tom Riddle for the burden of this new knowledge, and worse, the task of keeping it a secret from his friends.

Harry feared that Millie and Blaise would turn on Hagrid if they knew the truth. Blaise, proud and over-conscious of appearances, would never have befriended the gigantic, sometimes awkward gamekeeper if it hadn't been for Harry's influence. As for Millie, she wasn't one for making friends in the first place, and Harry considered her affection for her cat stronger than any she could feel for Hagrid. If she found out that Hagrid and his love of dangerous creatures was connected to Mammon's current condition, Harry doubted even his gigantic stature would be enough to save the gamekeeper.

He longed to talk about it with Hagrid directly, but didn't know how to explain his newfound information without insulting his friend. He was loath to mention the diary to any adult, certain that the secrets it contained would be used against Hagrid.

There was a part of Harry that still believed in Hagrid's innocence. He was certainly guilty of bringing a dangerous creature into the school 50 years ago, but did that necessarily mean he would commit the same mistake all these years later? If the beast was never caught, wasn't it possible it was now acting alone?

This was all hopeful guesswork, of course. Someone had to write that message on the wall, and Harry was positive the beast could never do the job, not with all the wriggling, hairy legs it possessed.

While Harry agonized in private, the rest of the second years were tasked with selecting electives for next year.

“I have no idea what to do,” Harry said aloud as they read over the class lists, referring to several situations at once, though his friends assumed he meant only his course of study.

Millie had the class list in front of her, though she was busy reading a letter from her parents that had just arrived by owl. She scowled as she read its lengthy paragraphs, then finally balled the parchment up in her fist, tossing it to the floor without another glance.

She saw Harry and Blaise's looks of curiosity, and with an indifferent shrug, she stated, “They had some advice on what classes I should take. A load of rubbish.”

“Should we all sign up for the same classes?” Harry suggested. “We could continue dividing up the homework that way.”

Millie demurred, “I think the best strategy is to divide and conquer. If we all master different subjects, then as a group, we'll be unstoppable, no matter what we might come up against in the future.”

“What do you think, Blaise?” asked Harry.

Blaise looked carelessly at the list of electives, twirling a spoon around one of his fingers. “I don't think it really matters what I pick,” he said, “I think most everyone else is considering what kind of career they want in the future. But since I plan to follow mum's example and marry rich, I'll be too busy living fabulously to pursue something as mundane as a job.”

Harry looked again at the courses listed, this time in horror. Was he really expected to know what he wanted to do with the rest of life _now_? How could the school expect him to make such an important decision at the age of twelve?

Blaise continued with his fantasy of the lovely home he would build with his future spouse's money, when he was suddenly cut short by the appearance of the very person he thought to emulate. Mrs. Zabini stepped into the Great Hall and made directly for the Slytherin table, Gilderoy Lockhart bobbing in her wake. Blaise had his back turned, and did not notice her until she was nearly on top of the trio.

“Mum!” He exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and terror, “What are you doing here?”

“I have come to take you home, Blaise,” Mrs. Zabini said, her dark eyes flashing.

Blaise stood up with such rapidity that he nearly toppled the long bench to the floor, along with Harry and every other student seated on it. He started to ask his mother why, with such suddenness, she was pulling him from school.

“I think you know why,” said Mrs. Zabini. “How could you fail to tell me about the attacks on students? Someone could have died! And what if it had been you?”

“You're exaggerating, mum,” Blaise said in a supplicatory tone, “No one has died. And besides, it's only muggle-borns being attacked anyway.”

“Oh, so now you think you're invincible?” Mrs. Zabini said, her voice rising to such a pitch that it nearly cracked. Several students turned their heads to stare at the family squabble.

“Now, now, Edana,” Lockhart suddenly interjected, “I'm sure Blaise is in no trouble here, at all. Why, with my skills, I'd protect him at all costs. I would even lay down my life for him, if it meant...”

Lockhart would never be able to finish his fine sentiment. Mrs. Zabini silenced him with a look of pure rage, and he was quelled in an instant.

“You...” she said to Lockhart with such venom, Harry might have cheered had it not been for the seriousness of the situation, “You and the rest of the faculty... What do you mean by trying to keep all this a secret? The parents should have been notified immediately after the first attack. Now two students have been harmed, and I have to learn about it in a letter from _you_?”

Lockhart, missing the point of her speech entirely, brightened up and said, “So you _did_ get my Valentine!”

“I have half a mind to go to the governors with this cover-up!” Mrs. Zabini declared, ignoring Lockhart's statement as easily has he had her own, “I'll have you know that I am close friends with Narcissa Malfoy, and a word from me would be all it would take to have her husband shut this place down!”

“Mum, you can't!” Blaise cried. His faith in his mother's powerful connections was strong enough that he'd believe any of her treats. Even Lockhart had the decency to look a bit worried, realizing that the angry woman in front of him might have the power to put him out of a job.

At that moment, Snape, who had casually watched the drama unfold from his perch at the faculty table, silently descended on the group, asking calmly if there was anything he could do.

Mrs. Zabini appeared to relax under the influence of another staff member, and she was able to answer Snape in as smooth and oily a way as the Potions master himself.

“No thank you, Professor. I have just come to collect my son. I'm sure I'm not the only parent who will do so in the near future.”

“I understand you,” Snape said without emotion. He motioned to Blaise and told him to return to his dorm to collect his things immediately.

Blaise tried to protest, but another look from his mother told him resistance would be futile, and he began to slink away with slumped shoulders.

“You'd better go with him, Harry,” said Mrs. Zabini with authority, “You're coming, too.”

Harry was already prepared to rise and follow his friend, when Snape rested a cold hand on his shoulder, arresting his progress.

“I am afraid that won't be possible.” Snape said with the same coolness as before.

If Harry had to face the look Mrs. Zabini now directed at the Potions Master, he would have run screaming for the forbidden forest. But Snape remained perfectly still as Mrs. Zabini demanded to know why he was attempting to stop her from taking Harry along with her son.

“The reason is very simple,” said Snape, “Students can only leave school grounds with their parent or guardian's permission. It is unfortunate, but Harry Potter must remain here for the remainder of term. After all, you aren't his mother.”

Mrs. Zabini drew herself to her full height and stared down the length of her nose at Snape with a look of utter contempt. “We'll see about that.”

She did not attempt to fight Snape on the matter right then, but instead turned to Harry with compassionate eyes, her entire demeanor changing when she spoke to him.

“Harry, don't worry. I promise I will return for you. In the meantime, you have to promise to write Blaise daily. If you miss even one day, I swear I'll be right back here to take you home with me, no matter what this dirty oil slick has to say.”

Snape remained impassive to Mrs. Zabini's taunt. His hand still rested heavily on Harry's shoulder, preventing him even from following Mrs. Zabini from the Great Hall has she half-walked, half-dragged her son along with her, Lockhart still following like a besotted fool.

“Funny,” Harry said aloud as he watched them go, “I would think you'd jump at the chance to have me out of this place forever. Are you hoping I'll be eaten by a monster first? _Sir_?”

He added this last “sir” with enough sarcasm to sour milk, but Snape did not even deign to give him a response. Giving Harry only a light shove as he released his grip on his shoulder, he walked away without another word, and disappeared behind the faculty exit located at the back of the hall.

Harry and Millie were left only to stare at one another in silence, wondering what they were supposed to do with one third of their trio gone.

Neither one of them had much of an appetite to continue their meal. Harry suggested that they remove to their dormitories, or perhaps trek down to Hagrid's cabin to tell him of what just happened. Harry had been avoiding all discussion of Hagrid since the revelation of Riddle's diary, but heir or no heir, Harry was sure Hagrid would commiserate with him over the sudden and unexpected loss of his best friend.

Millie, while not quite on board with Harry's proposed visit to Hagrid's, agreed that it was time to go, and Harry followed her lead as she rose from her seat.

There were plenty of curious stares to watch them as they made their way to the door. It was a popular mealtime for the students, and while the Great Hall hadn't been as full as it was during one of their holiday feasts, there were still plenty of gawkers to witness the spectacle of Mrs. Zabini's arrival. Harry hadn't thought of them while the conversation took place, but he was aware of their whispers now, and found himself musing over how the rumors would spin this one. Perhaps they would say that Mrs. Zabini suspected Harry like everyone else, and she pulled her son from school to keep him from fraternizing with someone so dangerous. The thought was almost enough to make him laugh, if he wasn't still reeling.

“Harry!” a voice called to him. He stopped in his tracks just before he reached the entrance to the hall, and turned to see Hermione Granger rushing toward him. Neville Longbottom, as usual, followed close behind.

“Harry!” said Granger again as she drew closer, “What's going on? What happened to Blaise?”

Harry, unsure of what to say, turned his head toward Millie. She had stopped to see what the fuss was about when she heard Harry's name called, but seeing that it was only Granger again, she shook her head from side to side, looking exasperated. Harry felt that he could handle the Gryffindor students on his own, and taking pity on Millie, motioned to her to continue on without him.

“His mum was worried because of what's been happening at school,” Harry said in response to Granger's question. “She heard about the attacks on students, and was worried he'd be in danger.”

“But Blaise is a pure-blood, isn't he?” asked Longbottom nervously, “She doesn't think he'll be attacked?”

Harry knew enough of Longbottom's family history to know his was one of the pure-blood families who hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for generations. While he might not be banking on Salazar Slytherin's legacy to protect him, as Harry's fellow housemates did, Longbottom had certainly considered himself protected by his lineage.

“Blaise thought he was safe,” Harry said, deciding to offer Longbottom whatever hope he could without lying, “But Mrs. Zabini is very protective. I don't think she wanted anything left to chance.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Granger, actually reaching out to take his hand in an affectionate gesture, “I'm so sorry. It must be awful.”

“Er, thanks...” Harry said, doubtful of what to say. He gave Granger's hand a light squeeze that he hoped conveyed gratitude, then pulled away from the brief connection to ask, “But what about you? Are your parents going pull you out of school, too?”

Granger tossed her bushy hair and said proudly, “Of course not. I haven't told them about any of this. I'm not going anywhere until I've found the heir.”

Harry admired her courage, though her boast did remind him of something else Mrs. Zabini had said.

“Don't you think they should still know about it?” Harry asked, “I mean, Blaise hadn't written to his mum of the attacks either, but she thought the school should have let parents know. You don't think Dumbledore is trying to cover this up, do you?”

A shadow of doubt passed over Granger's face for a moment, but then her expression brightened, and her eyes sparkled as a new possibility struck her.

“That's an interesting point, Harry! Dumbledore not notifying our parents does seem rather suspicious, doesn't it? Do you suppose he has some idea of who the heir is already? Perhaps he wants to handle it himself! Oh, but that doesn't make any sense, does it? If he knew who it was, he would have stopped that person before they could petrify the Ravenclaw boy. Unless he does know, and he's protecting that person...”

Harry's stomach clenched. Granger was merely speculating, but she seemed to be veering dangerously close to the truth. Dumbledore had been at the school when the Chamber was first opened. He would have known that Hagrid was the culprit. And Hagrid was so fond of Dumbledore. He was always ready to boast about Dumbledore's goodness, and told Harry on more than one occasion that it was Dumbledore who got him the job as gamekeeper. If Dumbledore was keeping these attacks quiet, it was to protect Hagrid more than anything. But Dumbledore could not be the only wizard to remember the previous incident. It was only a matter of time before Granger, or someone like her, pointed the finger at his friend.

Harry made his excuses to Hermione and Neville, telling them that after everything that had happened, he wanted only to go to bed. This was partly true, as he did long for the sweet oblivion that slumber would bring, if only for a few hours. But his true motive was to slip away. He needed to see Hagrid. Granger let him go, but not before pulling him into an affectionate hug that seemed to surprise both Harry and Longbottom alike. Harry was aware of the eyes of the other students, still watching them, no doubt wondering what Granger was thinking. He wasn't sure if her friendliness toward him were bravery, or merely recklessness. Longbottom parted ways with Harry with a simple shake of the hand, and then Harry was on his way.

* * *

 

After sitting in Hagrid's cabin a quarter of an hour, Harry returned to the castle in low spirits. He wanted to ask Hagrid what he knew about the Chamber of Secrets, but couldn't bring himself to cast suspicion against his friend. Hagrid had no doubt sensed Harry's discomfort and sadness, because he tried to fill Harry's visit with loud conversation, hot tea, and plenty of sugary snacks to improve his mood. But Hagrid's cheerful demeanor only sank Harry's mood lower.

“Don' worry, Harry,” Hagrid had said to him in a soothing tone as Harry had prepared to leave, “I know you feel sad abou' Blaise goin' home. But yer oughter trust in Dumbledore. He'll soon get it sorted out, and Blaise will be back in no time.”

He spoke of confidence in the headmaster, but Harry thought he saw a bit of fear lurking in Hagrid's dark eyes. It was this glimmer of fear that had Harry worried about the innocence of his friend, and his thoughts were as dark as the waters pressing against the windows of the Slytherin common room.

Harry walked past the small groups of whispering students gathered there, senseless to the sudden quiet that fell over them as he made his solitary way up to his dormitory. He was entirely engrossed in his own thoughts until he opened the door to his room, and gasped at the scene within.

It was complete chaos. The bed curtains had been torn asunder and trampled under foot. Harry's trunk lay open and exposed, the possessions it contained strewn about his bed and the floor in disarray. The wardrobes they shared amongst themselves were all wide open, and every robe had been thrown to the floor, pockets turned inside out. Only Blaise's corner of the room was left untouched, though it had been completely cleared off all his possessions.

Harry stared at the mess in disbelief, wondering who could have done this. His first thought was that Blaise had done it before he left, in his haste to collect his things and go home. But Harry soon dismissed this idea. Blaise would have no reason to rifle through Harry's things, and he would never be so disrespectful as to leave the room in this condition, no matter how angry he might have been at leaving.

Harry next reasoned that there must have been an intruder, and his immediate concern was for his cloak. Fortunately, his father's cloak never left his side these days, and he knew it to be safe in his bookbag.

Then Harry remembered. He rushed to his bed, searching for the diary. He'd hidden it beneath his mattress after it revealed Hagrid's connection to the Chamber. He had not touched it in days, but remembering it now, he pushed his hand between the bedframe and the mattress and felt... nothing.

Harry moved his hand underneath the mattress, back and forth, but still he could feel nothing underneath. Frustrated, he flipped the mattress over and scanned the whole area, but it was useless. One glance was all he needed to know for sure. The diary had been stolen.

 


	32. Cornelius Fudge

 

Only a Slytherin could have taken the diary. The thief would have needed a password to access the common room and the dormitories beyond. Granger and Longbottom had successfully infiltrated the common room once before, but they weren't likely to make a second attempt. After all, they were Harry's friends now, and could have no reason to sneak back into the common room when they could simply ask Harry for information.

He briefly considered the possibility of another spy, but this too seemed unlikely. Snape had been changing the password with greater frequency as an extra precaution. And Granger was the only witch in school clever enough to concoct the polyjuice potion, so Harry was confident that no one had used this method of deception. The thief had to have come from within.

After ruling out outside interference, he had only to look at the usual suspects. There were only a handful of people who knew about the diary. Blaise had been pulled from school, Millie wanted nothing to do with the diary, and Granger and Longbottom were already out of the question. Unless of one them talked, and Harry sincerely doubted that they had, then the only remaining possibility was that someone else had observed Harry looking through the diary, and taken it.

The solution was obvious. It had to be Draco. He and Harry shared the same dorm, and he had every reason to want to spite Harry. Perhaps he thought it was Harry's own diary he stole, and was at that moment disappointed to see blank pages instead of Harry's most intimate secrets. How long would it be before he tested the diary himself, and discovered the memories Tom Riddle had hidden within?

Harry did not want to think of the repercussions that would follow if Draco learned of Hagrid's past. The letters he received from Blaise informed him of Mrs. Zabini's wrath. She had sent several angry messages to Lucius Malfoy, demanding that he and the other school governors do something about the current state of Hogwarts. He was grateful that he never shared Hagrid's secret with Blaise, certain he would have said something to his mother. But with Mrs. Zabini already breathing down his neck, Mr. Malfoy would waste no time in having Hagrid arrested if his son told him the gamekeeper was the one responsible.

Harry didn't want to confront Draco directly. Instead, he kept a watchful eye on him, searching for any hint that Draco was hiding something.

With this thought in mind, he stalked Draco down to the Quidditch pitch on Saturday morning. It was far too late in the season for a Gryffindor versus Slytherin rematch. As a result, the faculty decided to break with tradition and have the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams play, hoping to boost student morale. Harry was disappointed that Slytherin was not be in the match. If they were, then Draco as Seeker would be distracted, and Harry would be free to investigate the empty castle and search for Riddle's diary unmolested. Instead, he followed several paces behind Draco, hiding in plain sight within the flood of students trailing out of the castle.

Suddenly, just as they mounted the top of the dungeon staircase, Harry thought it heard it. The voice, momentarily forgotten except in his nightmares, seemed to be whispering directly into Harry's ear...

_Rip... Tear..._

Harry froze, causing a student behind him to collide with his shoulder. They cursed, saw who Harry was, and continued on quickly, but Harry took no notice of them. He was straining to hear the voice again, but he heard nothing. A shiver ran down his spine. The voice felt like a warning, a sign of an impending attack.

He considered turning back, ready to face this mysterious voice by himself if he had to. But he was torn between following it, and letting Draco out of his sight. He listened a moment longer, but it was impossible. He heard no other whispers, and as more students filled the hall with their laughter and conversation, he was convinced his nerves were just getting the better of him, and that he imagined hearing the voice.

Soon he had reached the Quidditch pitch, and was taking his place in the stands with the rest of the spectators. The two teams were already on the field. They mounted their brooms, ready to take flight, but Harry kept his eyes trained on Draco.

Madame Hooch placed her whistle to her lips, ready to signal the players for the start of the match. But the signal never came. Instead, the crowd fell silent as Professor McGonagall rushed onto the pitch, making her way toward Madame Hooch and the gathered players. Harry felt the familiar knot of foreboding in his stomach, certain that the appearance of the deputy headmistress could only mean one thing.

“The match is canceled,” Professor McGonagall announced, confirming Harry's fears as she raised her wand to her throat, amplifying her voice. “Students are to return to their common rooms immediately to await further announcements.”

There were a few outbursts of anger, but far more whispers as students turned nervously to their neighbors. There were those who didn't speak at all. They all knew what this meant. Another student had been attacked.

Harry felt like he was going to be sick as he walked down toward the dungeons with the other Slytherins. He had heard the voice, but dismissed it. And now someone else had been the victim of Slytherin's beast. Harry prayed that it was merely another petrification, and that the monster hadn't managed to take another life, like it did to that poor girl fifty years ago.

The Slytherins clustered in the common room, all anxiously awaiting the news they had been promised. No one was talking. A few of the first years started to cry, and Harry couldn't blame them. This had to be a terrible way to spend your first year at school.

As if they had all been holding their breath, there was a collective gasp as the door to their common room swung open and Professor Snape entered. A visit from their Head of House was a rare occurrence. In fact, Harry could not remember it happening once since his time at Hogwarts began.

As the Potions Master stood in the doorway, gazing at the worried faces of his students, Harry had the impression that his dark, black robes were fitting for the somber news he was likely to share.

“Until further notice, students will be escorted to their classes by a teacher,” Snape said without preamble, “All extracurricular activities are canceled, and a curfew is in place. Students are to be in their dormitories or common rooms after the evening feast each night. There will be no exceptions.”

He made sure to direct his gaze directly at Harry as he said these last words, though he quickly looked away again as Gemma Farley asked in a tremulous voice, “So it's true then? Another student has been attacked?”

Snape allowed for the proper dramatic pause to announce, “Yes, another muggle-born was found petrified. She has been relocated to the hospital wing to await the mandrake potion, like the others.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that at least this student hadn't died. But his comfort was short-lived. Snape had more to say.

“I would be remiss if I did not tell you all that Hogwarts will likely close if the culprit behind these attacks is not caught. If any of you have any information, it would be wise to come forward.”

Once again, Snape's eyes were directed at Harry. And he was not alone. The rest of Slytherin House had all turned to look at him, the doubt and fear evident in their expressions. Even Draco watched Harry from a spot not too far distant, a small smirk on his pointed face.

* * *

 

No one attempted to denounce Harry on the spot, perhaps fearing he would retaliate. But it was evident that the entire school, including the members of his own house, were now convinced of Harry's guilt. Without Blaise to support him, and Millie acting distant, Harry was on his own. Keeping his head up was difficult. The treatment he was receiving at school reminded him of his time with the Dursleys. No one was openly cruel to him, but the silent treatment was worse. He was used to it from his relatives, but from a place he once considered home, the ostracism was brutal.

He found relief the following evening around supper, though it came from an odd source. Since they were being escorted to each class by a teacher, mealtimes were one of the few opportunities for students to mingle with those of other houses. As usual, the Slytherins kept aloof from the others, but as Harry made his way to his usual spot, he couldn't help but notice Neville Longbottom seated at the end of the Gryffindor table.

He had his face buried in his hands. Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas were seated at his sides, obviously trying to comfort him. Seeing his grief, Harry finally realized who the latest victim had been.

At that moment, Neville glanced up and spied Harry. He broke away from his Gryffindor companions, leaving them stunned as he ran across the hall toward Harry, not stopping until he had flung his arms around Harry's neck. Harry, embarrassed and over-aware of the stares the others were directing at them, could only pat Neville's back while he sobbed aloud.

“I'm sorry, Neville,” Harry said, searching for the right words to say, “But Hermione will be alright, won't she? She'll be cured like the others.”

Neville pulled away from Harry, sniffling. His nose was swollen and red from crying. Harry had an abrupt, uncomfortable feeling of kinship with him. They had both, in a way, been separated from their closest friend.

“What about the next student?” Neville asked, his voice thick, “What if they aren't so lucky?”

Harry didn't know what to say, but he knew they were attracting too much attention, standing in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry glanced toward the Gryffindor table, but Neville's friends were watching them closely, hostile expressions on their faces. The Slytherin table was equally out of the question, since Harry feared the possibility of Draco overhearing their conversation. He needed to talk to Neville, but with the curfew and chaperone rules in place, there was nowhere they could safely go.

“You can sit here if you like,” said a soft voice near Harry's elbow.

Harry turned to see a blonde girl seated at the end of the Ravenclaw table. She was sitting alone, and upon meeting Harry's eye, slid down a few feet to enable Harry and Neville to take the spot next to her.

“Er, thanks,” Harry said, surprised at the sudden hospitality. The girl looked to be a first year, but she did not eye him with the same mixture of awe and fear as the other underclassmen. Harry concluded that she must be older than she appeared, and accepted a seat by her side, Neville sliding in next to him.

The girl merely gave him a nod, and reached into her bag to pull out a thin magazine. She immediately began to skim over the pages, stopping on an article. Harry had no idea if this was merely pretense, or if she meant to give them some privacy. He turned to Neville and lowered his voice, just to be sure she wouldn't hear.

“Listen, Neville. I want the attacks to stop as much as you do. They'll close the school if we can't get to the bottom of this.”

“Hermione thought of something,” Neville said quickly, “I mean, before she...”

Harry did not force him to finish the thought. Instead, he pressed Neville for more information.

“We were on our way to the Quidditch match,” Neville explained, “We reached the first floor, when Hermione said she thought of something. She ran off to the library, and told me to go on without her.”

“She went alone?” Harry asked, surprised that Hermione would be so reckless with the threat of a monster lurking in the school.

Neville shrugged. “That's what she's like. Hermione's always running off to the library for one reason or another. That's where they found her...”

Neville started to tear up again. Harry, fearing another emotional outburst and desperate for more information quickly asked, “Did she say anything to you? I mean, about what she was researching in the library?”

Neville shook his head sadly. “I know she was searching for the beast. She still thinks it's a snake, and that's why you can hear it talk. She had been talking about how it moves around the school unnoticed, and then she must have had an idea, because that's when she ran off. She had a small pocket mirror in her hand when they found her, but that's all I know.”

“A mirror?” Harry asked. He realized he was leaning forward, engrossed in the information Neville had to share. Sitting back, he thought hard, but the pieces wouldn't fit together. Hermione had a mirror in her hand, but what did that signify? And how did Hagrid figure into all this? He'd certainly been keeping a monster in the school fifty years ago, but it had far too many legs to be a snake.

Harry removed his glasses, rubbing his palms over his burning eyes and feeling a headache coming on. When he looked up again, Neville was watching him intently.

“What do we do now, Harry?”

Harry glanced up at the faculty table and saw Lockhart chatting with an exasperated looking Professor Sprout. He had an idea.

“Fancy a trip to the loo, Neville?”

“What?” Neville asked, but Harry was already pulling him from his seat and dragging him toward the faculty table.

“Professor Lockhart!” Harry called as they approached the DADA professor.

Lockhart turned to Harry with one of his dazzling smiles. Professor Sprout looked relieved to have his attention pulled away, and offered Harry a warm smile of thanks.

“Harry! What can I do for you?”

“You can help me get to the lavatory, sir,” said Harry.

Lockhart's smile faltered and he seemed at a loss for words, so Harry continued in an explanatory tone, “Students aren't allowed to move around the castle without a chaperone, but Neville and I have to go. Will you take us?”

“I'll take you boys,” Professor Sprout said, getting to her feet.

“Sorry professor, but you're... y'know... a girl,” Harry said, his face reddening even as he said it. The false modesty was embarrassing in itself, but for Harry's plan to work, they needed a teacher as gullible as Lockhart.

“But, Potter...” said Professor Sprout, casting a doubtful eye on Gilderoy.

“It's alright, ma'am,” Harry said, giving her a confident smile, “Who better to protect us than the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

Lockhart seemed to rally under this praise, and he quickly stepped in, insisting that he could protect the boys alone. He escorted them into the hall toward the nearest boys lavatory, and boldly declared that he would wait for them outside.

“Unless you think I'd better accompany you?” Lockhart asked.

“I don't think that's necessary professor,” Harry said, “No one's ever been attacked in a bathroom.”

Harry, still dragging Neville along, walked into the lavatory and let the door fall shut behind them. He then began rifling through his bookbag.

“Harry, do you mind telling me what's going on? I don't have to pee!” Neville protested.

Harry, finding the item he was looking for, tossed it into Neville's face. Neville pulled the object from his head and stared at the glimmering mass in confusion.

“Harry, what...?”

“I think it's time we talked to Hagrid,” said Harry.

“Hagrid? You mean the gamekeeper? But why...?”

“I'll explain on the way,” Harry said, pulling the cloak from Neville's hands and throwing it over them both. “First we have to get rid of Lockhart.”

Under cover of the invisibility cloak, their bodies completely concealed, Harry and Neville crept toward the lavatory door. Harry opened it only a crack, and could see Lockhart waiting in the wall, whistling a tune to himself.

Harry closed his eyes and pictured Noodle, Blaise's snake. He could see her small black eyes and her flickering forked tongue in his mind's eye. Focusing on the memory, Harry opened his mouth and hissed.

Lockhart jumped and looked around him, but Harry was effectively hidden by the cloak.

“What is that?” Lockhart said, drawing his wand with a shaking hand, “Is someone there?”

 _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy-Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please,_ Harry hissed. He knew that it didn't matter what he said. Lockhart would not be able to understand it.

Lockhart gave squeal of fright, glancing wildly up and down the hall.

“Um, Harry?” Lockhart called, “I think I'm needed in the Great Hall... So, just... You boys will be alright walking back down on your own, won't you?”

Harry gave another menacing hiss, and Lockhart, without wasting another minute, quickly bolted down the hall, screaming as he went, “Just be sure to head straight back when you're done!”

“Rotten coward,” Harry said, this time in English so that Neville could understand him.

Lockhart wasn't the only one who felt nervous. Neville was practically shaking as he asked, “Harry, what have you done?”

“Now we can leave without being caught,” Harry explained, and he began leading the way down to Hagrid's hut.

They waited until they were just outside Hagrid's before pulling off the cloak. Neville was clearly worried about all the rules they were breaking to be there, but he waited by Harry's side without complaint. However, he could not suppress a cry of alarm when Harry knocked on the door and Hagrid swung it open an instant later, aiming a crossbow at his face.

“Oh, what're you doin' here, Harry?” Hagrid asked when he recognized him.

“Hello to you to, Hagrid!” Harry said, unable to keep his voice down due to shock.

Hagrid shushed him and looked about nervously, as if expecting someone to burst out of the bushes nearby. He quickly pulled them both into the cabin, barring the door shut behind him. Only then did he notice that Neville, and not Millie, had accompanied Harry to the cabin.

“Who's yer friend, Harry?”

“This is Neville, Hagrid. He's a friend of Hermione Granger, one of the students who was petrified.”

Hagrid's gaze softened and he looked at Neville with genuine compassion.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, son,” he said with feeling.

Seeing him look so pained by this news, Harry couldn't believe that Hagrid was really behind the attacks. He thought about what he was going to say as they took their places at the table. Hagrid poured them both mugs of hot water for tea, but he seemed distracted. He forgot to add tea leaves, and he kept looking toward the windows, though he had the shutters closed. Harry was about to begin his questioning, when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid overturned his own tureen of water, sending the steaming contents all over the floor. Harry jumped up before the flood of liquid could burn his lap, and he quickly pulled Neville to his side. Panicked that their disappearance had been noticed so soon, Harry flung the cloak over them both. Hagrid made sure they were hidden before seizing his crossbow and flinging the door open once more.

After a pause, Harry heard someone speak in a calm, though very serious voice.

“Good evening, Hagrid.”

It was Dumbledore. And he was not alone. An odd looking man followed him into Hagrid's cabin. He had grey, tousled hair and was dressed in a bizarre mixture of clothes: a pinstripe suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime green bowler.

Neville inhaled sharply and hissed a few words into Harry's ear.

“That's the Minister for Magic!”

Harry pressed his foot on top of Neville's toes to make him shut up, afraid the whisper would give away their position.

“Bad business, Hagrid,” said the man Neville had correctly identified as Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, “Four students attacked? Things have gone far enough. The Ministry has to act.”

“I never,” said Hagrid, fixing his imploring gaze on Dumbledore rather than Fudge, “Professor Dumbledore, sir, you know that I never...”

He faltered, looking pale and tragic under his wild hair and beard. Dumbledore covered for his moment of weakness, stating to Fudge in certain tones, “I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence.”

Fudge looked uncomfortable under Dumbledore's stern gaze, “Albus, his record is against him. We simply must do something. The school's governors have sent owl after owl...”

“I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” Dumbledore said. His voice was still very calm, but there was a fierceness in his eyes Harry had never seen from the headmaster before.

Fudge began twirling his bowler in his hands, staring that the green felt rather than into Dumbledore's icy blue eyes.

“I'm under a lot of pressure, Albus. Got to do something, you know. If you are right and Hagrid is not responsible, then he'll return no questions asked. But I've got to take him with me or I'll...”

“Take me?” Hagrid interrupted. His pale face flushed red. “Take me where?”

“Just for a short time,” Fudge said apologetically, unable to meet Hagrid's eye, “It's not a punishment, Hagrid, I assure you. Just a precaution.”

“Not...” said Hagrid, his voice choked with emotion, “Not Azkaban?”

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap at the door. This time Neville had to cover Harry's mouth with his hands, because Harry nearly let out a loud gasp.

Lucius Malfoy stepped through the door. He was swathed in a black travelling cloak, and his long blond hair looked slightly windswept, as if he arrived in a hurry. However, you would never suspect he arrived in haste from the serene smile on his face.

“Already here, Fudge? Good, I was hoping I would not be late.”

“What're you doin' here?” Hagrid said furiously while Fang began to growl at the intruder, “Get outta my house!”

“My dear man, I take no pleasure in being in your...” Mr. Malfoy paused, looking disdainfully at the rustic accouterments of Hagrid's home. “House...” He concluded, looking very much like he doubted Hagrid's hut deserved the term. He shrugged and continued, “I came calling for Dumbledore, and heard that he and the minister had come down here from the school.”

“How can I help you, Lucius?” Dumbledore said pleasantly, though Harry feared for Mr. Malfoy's safety while the fire still raged in Dumbledore's eyes.

“A dreadful task, I'm afraid,” Mr. Malfoy said, but the smile on his lips belied his words. He was immensely pleased with his appointment, Harry was sure. “The governors received a complaint, and after looking into the matter, we feel you are losing your touch. I have with me an order of suspension, and I think you'll find all twelve signatures accounted for.”

He passed Dumbledore a roll of parchment, which Dumbledore took without glancing at it.

“Now see here, Lucius!” Fudge exclaimed, “Suspending Dumbledore! Don't you think that's a bit rash? I think that's the last thing we want right now...”

“Another muggle-born attacked only yesterday,” Mr. Malfoy interrupted, “And two others before that. Not to mentioned a petrified ghost, I believe? And what has Dumbledore done to stop these catastrophes?”

He paused, as if giving Dumbledore a moment to defend himself. Harry waited, no less anxious to hear Dumbledore's explanation, and hoping he would put Mr. Malfoy in his place. But Dumbledore said nothing. He merely stood there, the letter for his resignation in hand, as if waiting for something more to occur.

Mr. Malfoy sneered at Dumbledore's silence, countering Fudge's renewed protests with a regal wave of his hand.

“As Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks, the governors feel that a new headmaster is in order. All twelve of us have voted...”

Hagrid straightened to his full height, his head grazing the low ceiling.

“An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, eh Malfoy?”

Mr. Malfoy took a few steps backward, reasonably cowed by Hagrid's awesome size. Dumbledore could see Hagrid's temper starting to flare, and he ordered him to remain calm with a few words.

Mr. Malfoy adjusted his traveling cloak fastidiously, muttering something to Hagrid about learning to control his temper around the Azkaban guards. Neither Dumbledore nor Hagrid paid his threats any mind, and instead, Dumbledore fixed his attention back on Fudge, acting as if Mr. Malfoy were not even in the same room.

“I will go, Cornelius,” he said simply, “Since the governors have asked for my removal, I will of course step aside.”

Hagrid and Fudge both looked as if they would protest some more, but Dumbledore was able to silence then with a look. He continued, his voice so soft Harry practically had to hold his breath to hear.

“However, you will find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

“A noble sentiment,” Mr. Malfoy said with an ironic bow, “Let us hope your successor will act on more than sentiment alone, and prevent any further attacks.”

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out before him. Fudge, still fiddling nervously with his hat, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him.

But Hagrid stood his ground, took a steadying breath, and said after careful deliberation, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right. That's all I'm sayin'.”

Fudge stared at him in amazement, but Harry understood Hagrid perfectly. It was clearly, though not cleverly, meant as a message for him.

Hagrid grabbed his moleskin overcoat, patted a whining Fang on the head, and preceded Fudge out the door quickly, as if afraid he would lack the strength to leave of his own volition if he lingered any longer. Harry and Neville waited a full minute after the door banged shut to move or speak. Harry was the first to pull the cloak off, and he turned to stare at a frightened Neville.

“No Dumbledore...” Neville said, “Harry, what do we do now?”

Harry thought about his friend, at that moment being whisked away to the wizard prison known as Azkaban. Harry had no idea what horrors he would face there, but he knew from Hagrid's reaction that it was a dreadful place. His mind was made up.

“We do what Hagrid said. We follow the spiders.”

 


	33. Aragog

“Harry, what just happened? Why did they take Hagrid away?”

Neville stood just outside the door to Hagrid's cabin, shivering slightly in the cold evening air. He might have worn Harry's invisibility cloak for whatever warmth it could provide, but it remained clutched in his hand, forgotten for the moment.

Harry was busy poking around Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Bereft of the the orange gourds since the autumn harvest, the soil was now barren, home to only a few dry and decaying vines.

“I'm sorry, Neville, I should have told you before,” said Harry, keeping his eyes locked on the dirt under his feet. “They think Hagrid is responsible for the attacks.”

He heard Neville gasp, then the sound his footfalls as he came closer.

“Why do they think Hagrid has anything to do with it?” Neville asked. They were completely alone on the grounds, but he kept his voice low, still fearful of being observed.

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ground, but he finally stopped the relentless pacing that began when he first exited the cabin. Taking a deep breath, he replied, “Because the Chamber of Secrets was opened once before, and a girl died. Hagrid was blamed for bringing a monster into the school, and they expelled him. Now... I guess they think he might have done it again.”

Neville fell silent while he absorbed this information. While he stood staring into the darkness of the trees bordering the pumpkin patch, Harry continued his search.

“You don't think he really did it. Do you, Harry?” Neville finally asked after several minutes passed without either of them saying a word.

Harry didn't reply. He didn't want to believe that Hagrid would intentionally hurt someone, but he was haunted by the memory he had seen in Riddle's diary. Hagrid had a soft spot for dangerous beasts, and it wasn't inconceivable that he would let one into the school. After all, he had let a massive three-headed dog stay there only last year.

But Harry was willing to give Hagrid a chance to explain himself, and if he wanted Harry to follow the spiders, that's what Harry was going to do.

“I found one!” Harry exclaimed.

A small, black spider moved quickly and steadily across the ground. Harry, careful not to lose sight of it, beckoned for Neville to join him. They made their way carefully, keeping a fair amount of distance between themselves and the spider to avoid crushing it underfoot. It was soon obvious where the tiny arachnid was headed. The spider was leading them toward the Forbidden Forest.

Neville hesitated as Harry took his first few steps into the trees.

“Are we really going to follow it, Harry?” he asked, clearly intimidated.

“We have to, Neville. What if its the only way for us to learn what happened to Hermione?”

At the mention of her name, Neville seemed to find some courage. Without further objection, he stepped forward, passing the invisibility cloak back to Harry, though they didn't use it. The forest was dark and dense enough that there was no danger of being observed by anyone on the outside.

As they continued to walk, following their spider guide, Harry noticed something odd. A second spider joined the first, then another... And another. Before long, the ground itself seemed to be moving with hundreds of tiny, black bodies. The spiders were all flocking to the same point, somewhere deep within the woods.

Harry did his best to watch his feet, afraid of trampling the small creatures. He cast a worried look toward Neville, and saw that the Gryffindor was also walking carefully, his face pale.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

Neville stole a glance at Harry before returning his eyes to the ground. “Yes, why?”

“It's just... It's an awful lot of spiders, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Neville agreed, his voice steady as he stepped over a fallen log, “But they're just spiders. It's not like they'll hurt us.”

Harry agreed, but Neville's response surprised him. Although a Gryffindor, Neville had a reputation for being one of the most cowardly, spineless boys in school. Harry had expected the notoriously timid Gryffindor to be at least slightly unnerved by the sheer number of eight-legged creatures, however small they might be. Seeing him act so calm encouraged Harry to be brave as well, and he feigned more poise than he felt as they continued deeper into the forest.

They seemed to be walking a very long time. He might have given up sooner, but with Neville by his side and proof of Hagrid's innocence on the line, Harry persevered. They spiders had to be migrating somewhere, and Harry would not turn back until he knew where and why.

“Harry, wait. Where are they going?” Neville asked after they had followed the spiders for what seemed like half an hour.

Harry drew his wand from his pocket. Until now, they had followed the spiders in darkness, knowing their path by moonlight. Trusting that the light was not likely to be seen this far from the school, Harry lifted his wand and murmured, “ _Lumos._ ”

The pair were instantly bathed in a soft white light. Harry saw that the spiders were moving off the narrow trail, and were now scampering through the underbrush, still moving as a herd.

“What do you think?” Neville asked, this time unable to hide a note of worry in his voice.

“Let's go,” Harry said decisively, “We've come this far.”

Progress slowed. It was harder to move over fallen branches and twigs ensnaring their robes with every step. Several times, Harry had to stop. Crouching low, he would check to make sure they had not lost their spider-marked path.

Finally, the ground seemed to slope downward, and Harry thought they were walking down towards a stream, or perhaps a small glade. From that direction, Harry thought he could hear something moving. Something very big.

He came to a dead stop, nearly toppling down the sloping ground as Neville, only a few steps behind, stumbled into his back.

“Ow!” Neville said as he ran into Harry.

Harry shushed him as he continued to stare into the trees, trying to make out a shape in the dark. He dismissed the light of his wand with a whisper.

“What is it?” Neville dared to ask.

Harry didn't need to respond. Whatever was down started to move again, and they could hear the snapping of twigs.

They waited, each of them straining to see into the thick darkness around them. Suddenly, the sounds stopped. Harry waited several long minutes before letting out a long, silent breath.

“Come on,” he instructed Neville, prepared to continue their journey.

He tried to take a step forward, but Neville seized him by the sleeve of his robes.

“Neville, what...?” Harry started to ask, but then he saw the look on Neville's face. He was pulling Harry backward as quickly as he could, his eyes fixed on a point behind Harry, approximately 10 feet off the ground.

“Harry, do you remember how I said I wasn't afraid of the spiders before?” he asked, drawing his own wand from his pocket.

Harry felt his blood run cold. Suddenly, he couldn't get the memory from Riddle's diary out of his head. He remembered the thing bursting from its hiding place. A grotesque, hairy creature with far too many legs...

Harry was forcibly ripped from Neville's grasp. Something had lifted him right off the ground, and Harry screamed, his legs kicking pointlessly beneath him.

Neville gave a horrified cry and raised his wand against Harry's attacker. He tried to fire a spell, but it missed. Harry watched as a second large form dropped from the trees and plucked Neville off the ground as effortlessly as Harry had been. Neville had managed to keep hold of his wand, but the creature had pinned his arms to his sides, and he was powerless to fight against it.

The next moment, Harry's view of Neville was cut off as the creature that held him turned and began to walk back down the sloping ground.

Harry thought he had been prepared for what he might find since the moment Hagrid said “follow the spiders.” But he had not expected the monster to have so many friends. Spiders the size of horses were clustered at the base of the slope. Their massive, hairy bodies stood like sentries around a misty, domed web in the center of the hollow. The spider carrying Harry moved toward the web, while its companions circled around them and closed ranks, their pincers clicking in excitement.

Harry fell to the ground, landing painfully on his knees as the spider released him. He tried not to let the pain show as he he heard Neville strike the ground just behind him. He did not know if the spiders could sense weakness or fear, but he was determined not to reveal his panic.

He risked a glance at Neville's face. The Gryffindor's eyes were open wide, but his mouth was set in a firm line, as if he too were determined not to scream. Harry gave him a very small nod of encouragement, and turned his attention to the webbed mass before them.

The spider who had brought Harry to the hollow began clicking louder than any of the others, and Harry felt sure he was going insane. He thought he could make out some words between the strange sound its pincers made.

“Aragog!” it seemed to shout, “Aragog!”

Another spider emerged from the web. It was enormous, dwarfing the others with its size. Its hairy body was flecked with gray, and as it crawled slowly out of its den, Harry could see the moon reflected off its milky white eyes. It was blind.

“What is it?” said the spider called Aragog, and this time Harry knew he wasn't mistaken. They could talk.

Harry felt a shred of hope. If the spider could talk, then perhaps it could be reasoned with.

“It is man,” said the spider, referring to the two boys sitting by its many feet.

“Is it Hagrid?” said the elderly spider, drawing closer.

“We're friends of Hagrid,” Harry said quickly.

The spiders around him clicked. Harry could not tell if they were excited, or perhaps nervous. It seemed to take a while for Aragog to respond. When he did, it was with slow, careful words.

“Hagrid has never sent men to our hollow before.”

“He's in trouble,” said Harry, “That's why we're here. He told us to come to you.”

“In trouble?” repeated Aragog, “What has happened?”

Harry slowly climbed to his feet. The spiders moved restlessly as Neville stood to join Harry's side, but they did not crowd any closer, and the blind eyes of their leader did not notice any change.

“They've taken him to Azakaban,” Harry explained, hardly knowing if the spider would recognize the name of the wizard prison. “They think that Hagrid... They're blaming him for what's been going on at the school. Something... Someone has been attacking students.”

The spider clicked his pincers together in a decidedly unfriendly manner, and the sound was echoed by the audience of arachnids surrounding them. Harry feared he had said the wrong thing, and insulted their eight-legged host.

“That was years ago!” Aragog protested. “I remember it well. They believed I was the monster that dwells within the Chamber of Secrets, and they sent Hagrid away, because he cared for me.”

“So you... You didn't come from the Chamber?” Harry asked.

“I?” said Aragog sounding vaguely insulted. “ I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land... Hagrid raised me from an egg. He was only a child himself at the time, but he cared for me, kept me hidden in the castle, feeding me table scraps... When I was discovered and blamed for the death of that girl, it was Hagrid who protected me. Hagrid is a good man, and my friend. I have lived in the forest all these years, and Hagrid still comes to visit me. He even found me a wife, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's kindness...”

Harry felt his confidence swell to hear the spider speak so fondly of their mutual friend. He dared to hope that he had nothing to fear from Aragog or his children, as Hagrid trusted him.

“I knew it!” said Harry, “You never attacked anyone! Hagrid was innocent!”

“Of course,” said Aragog, “My instinct would guide me differently, but I never harmed a human, out of respect for Hagrid. The body of the girl was found in a bathroom, and I never saw anything of the castle but the cupboard that was my home, until the night I was discovered.”

“But then... They never caught the person who was really responsible,” Harry said, thinking instantly of the Slytherin's heir, “And if that's the case, the creature who killed that girl may still be in the castle. Do you... Do you know what actually did it?”

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking pincers and snapping twigs as the spiders began to move restlessly. Harry felt Neville draw closer to his side, his hand unobtrusively moving to the pocket of his robes.

“The thing that lives in the castle is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others,” Aragog explained. “There were times, all those years ago, when I could sense the creature moving about the school, and I would beg Hagrid to let me go.”

“What was it?” Harry asked.

“We do not speak of it!” said Aragog fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid, though he asked me many times.”

Harry broke into a cold sweat. A creature that others feared to name... It reminded him of Lord Voldemort. He had been warned by others against mentioning the name of the dark wizard countless times. If these spiders held the same fear for the creature that lived within the Chamber, then Harry knew it was pointless to press them for more information.

The spiders continued to move about restlessly, and Harry was keenly aware that Neville had his wand gripped tightly in his hand, hidden under long sleeve of his robes.

Harry, desperate to avoid a confrontation, quickly said, “Thank you for telling us all of this. We'd better go back to the castle so we can help Hagrid.”

He gripped Neville by the wrist, and together they attempted to back away.

But Aragog stepped forward, saying, “I am afraid you cannot leave.” To his credit, he did sound slightly remorseful. “My children do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friend of Hagrid.”

Aragog retreated back into his webbed den. At the same time, the circle of spiders began to creep closer. Neville quickly drew his wand, but Harry stayed his arm, ignoring the look of stupefaction on the Gryffindor's face as Harry called out to Aragog, “Wait!”

The spider hesitated, and Harry cried out, “If you let your children eat us, there will be no one left to save Hagrid!”

Aragog clicked thoughtfully, seeming to reflect on Harry's words. Harry knew his indecision would not be enough to hold back his sons and daughters for long. They were already closing in. Harry knew they would never be able to fight them all, and his appeal to Aragog was meant only as a distraction. While Aragog hesitated, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak from his pocket, and quickly threw it over himself and Neville.

Harry, dragging Neville behind him, quickly made for a gap between the giant spiders. There was a tense moment when they all froze, trying to make sense of what had just happened to their prey. Then there came an eruption of movement and sound. The spiders, clicking their pincers together in outrage, began to comb the area.

Invisibility would only get them so far, and Harry could do nothing to conceal the sounds of their feet as they raced through the trees.

He wasn't even sure they were going in the right direction, and feared that he was leading Neville further into the Forbidden Forest. Worse still, it was hard to move quickly without any light. They kept stumbling over half-concealed roots and jagged rocks. The spiders, drawn by the sound of their retreat, quickly surged after them.

Harry finally ripped off the cloak as they fled further from the hollow, keeping the light fabric clutched in his hand as he ran. They needed to be unencumbered if they stood a chance of getting away, and the cloak had served its purpose.

Neville began firing some spells behind him, but the enchantments seemed to have no effect on the spiders. Harry wasn't sure if they were immune to magic, or if it was simply too difficult to aim while running at full sprint. He screamed to Neville, telling him to leave off with the spells and just run. But it was no use. The spiders could negotiate the uneven terrain much faster on their eight legs than either of the bipedal boys. Even as they broke through the trees, somehow managing to find the path again, Harry knew they were done for.

He stopped running. Neville, panting from exertion, came to a sudden halt when he saw Harry standing before him. Harry wanted to tell him he was sorry, but he couldn't find the right words. He didn't know how to apologize for getting them both killed. He merely hoped Neville could read what he felt from the look on his face.

Then, before either of them could say a word, Harry heard something galloping toward them. Neville screamed and ducked down. Harry instinctively followed his lead just as something large sailed over his head. It came crashing to the ground on four hooves, and Harry lifted his face to see the creature who had come to their rescue.

From the waist up it appeared to be a man, but the lower half of his body was that of a horse. Harry recognized the centaur instantly, though it was the first time he had seen one outside of a book.

He watched with a mixture of shock and fascination as the creature raised itself onto its hind legs, its front hooves kicking and slashing at the air.

The sudden appearance of the centaur seemed to frighten the spiders, and they retreated several yards. The centaur took this opportunity to turn toward Harry and Neville.

“Come quickly,” he said in a deep voice as he bent his forelegs to the ground, “They will not hold off very long.”

Harry did not need to be told twice. He leapt onto the centaur's broad back, pulling Neville on behind him. The centaur he sprang to his feet, and Harry had to cling desperately to his waist to keep from falling off. Neville had his arms locked so tight around Harry's stomach that he thought he'd never take a full breath again.

The centaur ran as if the two humans on his back weighed nothing at all. They flew over the ground, easily scaling a few fallen trees along the path at a single bound. Harry would have found the trip exhilarating if he wasn't so terrified, and he kept turning his head to check over his shoulder, certain that he would see the swarm of spiders closing in on them.

But they were in luck. The spiders had fallen far behind, reluctant to stray too far from their hollow. As the centaur gradually slowed his speed, Harry realized with immense relief that they were close to the edge of the forest. He could see the dim outline of Hagrid's cabin, and he even heard the mournful howls of Fang as the lamented the loss of his master.

“You will be safe now,” said the centaur, and Harry knew that he was right. He slipped off the centaur's back, landing heavily on his feet. Neville dropped to the ground after him with a bit less grace, and immediately threw up on the forest floor. Harry jumped away from the mess to avoid staining his trainers.

Harry noted that the centaur's sides heaved with each breath, and there were dark marks of perspiration down his flanks. The run had tired him more than Harry had guessed, and yet the creature voiced no complaints.

“Thank you for saving us,” Harry said, speaking for both himself and Neville, who was still too indisposed for words.

The centaur did not immediately respond. He looked at Harry with large, dark eyes. He had a kind face, but his expression was stern.

“You should not have come to the forest alone. It is not safe. Why was Hagrid not with you?” he demanded.

“You know Hagrid?” asked Harry.

“Hagrid has many friends in these woods,” said the centaur cryptically.

Harry did not find this very comforting. Hagrid's last friends had just tried to kill him.

“They've taken him away,” Harry said, waving his hand in the direction of the castle, “Some people from the ministry. That's why we came ourselves. He told us to follow the spiders...”

The centaur closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“So trusting,” he murmured to himself. Harry wasn't sure if he was disappointed in them for listening to Hagrid, or in Hagrid himself for sending them into danger in the first place. Then the centaur opened his eyes again and looked down at Harry. The stern expression was still there, but he seemed a bit softer now.

“My name is Firenze,” said the centaur.

“I'm Harry Potter.”

“I know.”

“Oh... Er, right...”

“I have learned of your pathos from the stars,” Firenze explained, inclining his chin toward the heavens, “You're in very grave danger.”

“So I'm told,” said Harry, who was beginning to wonder what it would feel like to be completely safe for once.

The centaur glanced down at him again. He said nothing, and Harry wondered if centaurs understood sarcasm.

“Look,” said Harry, “I'm not the only one in danger right now. The whole school is at risk if we can't find out who's really behind this. If I can capture them, I can prove that Hagrid is innocent.”

Firenze looked to the sky again and shook his head sadly, “To do that, you will need to put yourself at great personal risk. You may not survive the attempt.”

“Well, do the stars tell you what sort of creature is hiding in the Chamber of Secrets? I'm pretty sure it's a snake of some sort, but I could really use a hint right about now.”

“The stars do not give the sort of knowledge you seek,” Firenze said without emotion, but Harry swore he saw his lip tilt ever so slightly upward. “But there may be hope for you, yet. An opportunity will soon present itself, and I have faith you will succeed. You were destined for greatness.”

Harry did not feel encouraged by these words. Greatness was exactly what the Sorting Hat had promised when it placed him in Slytherin, though it was something Harry had never asked for. Now, standing in the dark, his robes torn and muddy, and unable to shake the feeling of being covered in cobwebs, Harry didn't feel destined for anything, much less “greatness.”

Neville finally seemed to recover from his heaving enough to thank Firenze for saving them. The centaur inclined his head toward the Gryffindor, and spared a final glance at Harry. He hoped that Firenze would have something more helpful to say, but the centaur merely wished for a speedy return of Hagrid, then he turned and cantered off through the trees.

Harry and Neville turned their backs to the woods, and began the long march toward the castle.

“We should wear the cloak,” Harry said, “We'll be spotted otherwise, and the last thing I need right now is detention with Snape.”

Neville gave a slight shudder at the thought, and appeared more frightened by this notion than he had at any point in the Forbidden Forest.

“You're right,” he said “Let's put it on.”

The boys huddled together as Harry pulled the invisibility cloak over them once again. They made their way silently through the vacant halls, the nightly curfew long since in effect. Pairs of teachers and ghosts stalked the passageways, on the alert more than just students sneaking out of bed. Talking was impossible, but Harry allowed Neville to lead, figuring he would see him as far as the Gryffindor common room.

Neville led him straight toward a portrait of a large woman in a florid pink gown. When they were close enough, Neville popped his head out of the cloak to give the password. The portrait gave a small shriek of surprise, but she swung herself open on hidden hinges, revealing the warm, bright colors of the Gryffindor common room. Harry peered around Neville curiously as he slipped inside.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” he asked teasingly, “Now I know the location of your common room. And the password, as well.”

“If you were the heir, I might be worried. But I know you're not,” said Neville, smiling at the empty space where he knew Harry stood, “Besides, the password has been changing every week as it is. I can barely keep up with it, myself.”

Harry slipped the hood of the cloak off his head to look Neville in the eye.

“Look, you were really brave back there. With the spiders, I mean. I'm glad you came with me.”

Neville looked down to his feet in embarrassment. Harry could tell he wasn't used to compliments. When he'd recovered enough return Harry's gaze, he offered him a shy smile, saying, “Thanks, Harry. You know, you were pretty cool, too. It took a lot of cunning to talk to that spider.”

Harry pulled a face at him. “Cunning... right.”

Neville, seeing Harry's discomfort, scrambled to recover from his error.

“I'm sorry! Cunning isn't the right word... I meant you were resourceful! Using the cloak like that so we could get away...”

“It's alright, Neville. I understand,” said Harry.

He knew Neville was only trying to give him a compliment, but the remark still gave him a strange feeling. Everyone knew that Slytherins were branded as cunning and ambitious, but Harry had never considered himself truly one of them.

He waved goodbye to Neville, and the portrait swung shut. With a vague feeling of regret, Harry watched the gold and scarlet of the Gryffindor common room disappear from view.

Alone again, Harry pulled the cloak back over his head, and made his was down to the dungeons.

 


	34. The Chamber of Secrets

The fear that had gripped the student body ever since Colin Creevy had been petrified reached a breaking point the next morning as students from all four houses were escorted to the Great Hall for breakfast and noticed the headmaster's empty chair. Confusion soon turned to foreboding, and then outright panic as Professor McGonagall rose from her place to announce that until further notice, the daily operations of Hogwarts would be overseen by herself, as Deputy Headmistress. Harry had not realized the impact Dumbledore's absence would have on the rest of the school, but with him gone, the threat of the school closing seemed imminent.

Draco Malfoy did not make matters any easier. He was only too eager to share that his father had played a significant role in removing the headmaster from his post. But only his usual crowd of admirers shared his triumph. With the exception of Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, the rest of Slytherin House seemed to resent Draco's family for removing the one person who could possibly stop further harm to their fellow students.

Draco, sensing the hostility of his listeners, was quick to share the other fact he had learned from this father – Hagrid's arrest.

“The mudbloods won't have anything to worry about now,” Draco confidently told Crabbe and Goyle, though he wasn't bothering to keep his voice down, “With the great oaf gone,there won't be any more attacks.”

“You think Hagrid is the Heir of Slytherin, then?” asked Harry. He had been eavesdropping, and could not suppress this comment.

“A half-blood buffoon like him?” Draco said carelessly, knowing very well that Harry was friends with the gamekeeper. “Of course not. But I suppose the real heir will stop now, since he's found a perfect scapegoat. I wish I could congratulate him on such a cunning plan! Now we're rid of both Dumbledore and a disgusting half-breed at once!”

Harry was both angry, and more confused than ever. It was obvious that Draco thought Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. But Blaise had been convinced that Draco was behind the attacks, using some key given to him by his father. Harry was forced to admit that either Draco was a very good actor, or they had been on the wrong track from the start.

Harry was dying for another clue. Every spare moment was dedicated to research. His class assignments fell to the wayside as he poured over books on magical creatures, defensive spells, and enchanted artifacts. But studying had never been Harry's forte, and he was not making much progress.

What he needed he couldn't readily obtain. The restricted section was bound to have books on dark magic, and Harry wanted to find out more about the item Lucius Malfoy had sent to Hogwarts. But with the teachers on high-alert, and Harry being one of the most suspect students in the school, permission was not likely to be granted.

There was, however, one teacher that seemed immune to the gloom that plagued the others. Three days after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left the school, Lockhart bounded into their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom looking nothing short of exuberant.

The class, collectively, stared at him in disbelief.

“Come now!” he cried, bestowing his gleaming white smile on each of their faces in turn, “Why so glum? Don't you all realize that the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away!”

“How can you be sure?” asked Daphne Greengrass..

“My dear girl,” said Lockhart with a fond expression. Daphne was easily the prettiest girl in Harry's year. “The Minister for Magic himself came to arrest Hagrid. I'm sure he would not have done so if he wasn't absolutely sure of his guilt.”

“Doubtful,” said Crabbe, his meaty arms folded over his chest. He glanced to Draco on his left, as if looking for his approval. Draco gave him a slight smirk and resumed doodling in the margins of his _Gadding with Ghouls_ textbook.

Lockhart pretended he hadn't heard Crabbe's comment, and began class with a rousing explanation of how he would have arrested Hagrid himself, had the Minister only called for his assistance.

To make matters worse, McGonagall had not canceled their exams. As the interim headmistress, she was determined to conduct business as usual, which meant heaping loads of assignments on the students as winter snows melted away to make room for spring. Harry's fervent researching, fruitless as ever, forced aside by new anxieties.

“Do you think Blaise will be held back a year?” Harry asked Millie as they attempted to cram as much information about the many uses of dragon's blood into their potions essays as possible.

Millie merely grunted and kept her face hidden behind a large textbook.

“Mrs. Zabini will probably be homeschooling him, but will they send him his exams?” Harry mused allowed. It was bad enough being separated from Blaise all of second term. He couldn't stand the thought of his friend being left behind a year, never to take any classes with Harry again.

“And what about practical exams?” Harry continued, “How are they supposed to test for that?”

“Harry, he will be lucky if his mum lets him return to Hogwarts at all,” Millie said testily, and Harry was silenced. It hadn't occurred to him that Mrs. Zabini might enroll him in another school. She was a graduate of Beauxbatons herself, and might easily reconsider her son's education given the current circumstances.

Relief finally came a few days before the start of their first exams. Professor McGonagall made an announcement to the school during their evening meal. The Mandrakes were matured at last. Everyone who had been petrified would be cured that very evening.

Cries of joy erupted from every side. Harry couldn't stop grinning as he saw his fellow classmates exchange hugs with those around them, thankful to hear that their petrified friends would soon return.

Harry hazarded a glance down the Slytherin table toward Herbivorous Pandey, curious to see how Colin's friend took the news of the Mandrake's harvest. He was pleased to see that even the surly Pandey had an unmistakable expression of happiness on his face as he accepted several pats on the back from the other first-years surrounding him.

Harry then turned toward Millie, seated across from him at their table. He expected her to look just as pleased as everyone else. She would finally get her cat back, the first of the petrified victims. But to his surprise, Millie looked more downcast than ever.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked, leaning across the table to be heard over the general noise while keeping his voice low.

Millie glanced fearfully left and right, then leaned closer to Harry as well.

“Harry...” she said slowly, so quiet that Harry practically had to read her lips to understand, “There's something I need to tell you.”

“You must be disappointed, Potter!” called a voice not far from where they were sitting.

Draco was leaning forward in his seat, smirking at Harry from between the massive forms of Crabbe and Goyle. The excited conversation filling the Great Hall after McGonagall's announcement had not abated, but Draco had raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those around him.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry called back, knowing that Draco's next words would be nothing but further insinuations against him.

“All your hard work wasted!” Draco continued, exactly as if he hadn't heard Harry. “Why didn't you take care of Granger when you had a chance? No one would have missed the know-it-all.”

Harry jumped out of his seat and slammed his hands down on the table. The students nearest to him flinched in alarm and scooted away from him, crowding into their neighbors.

“Why don't you ask yourself?” he shouted, “You had the opportunity, why not take it?”

Draco's face paled slightly as a small frown wrinkled the flesh between his brows.

“I'm not the Heir of Slytherin,” he said plainly.

Harry was starting to believe him, but he was still too angry to stop himself from shouting, “Well, I'm not the one whose father is hiding dark magic in the floor of his sitting room!”

Draco's white face now turned scarlet, and he rose from his seat, fists clenched at his sides as he yelled, “At least I have a father!”

“I'd rather be an orphan than the Heir of Slytherin!” Harry screamed back, the stress and worry he'd been holding back for weeks finally bursting forth.

A loud bang shocked them both out of their argument. Some nearby students screamed while others turned to look at the source of the noise. Millie had drawn her wand and cast a spell to break up the fight before it could get worse. She looked at Harry, a pained expression on her face, then she silently rose from her seat and made a hasty retreat out of the Great Hall.

“Ms. Bulstrode! You need a chaperone!” cried Professor McGonagall, seeing the disturbance among the Slytherin students and swooping down from the faculty table. She dashed past Harry and Draco in her haste to keep an eye on Millie, but she was closely followed by Professor Snape, who slithered toward Harry, demanding an explanation.

“Why don't you ask him?” Harry asked, still too angry to attempt diplomacy with his most hated teacher, “Malfoy is the one who started it.”

Harry stalked angrily toward the doors to the Great Hall, not caring if Snape took away points or gave him detention for his attitude. He felt a hand on his wrist and assumed that Snape had come to stop him from leaving without a chaperone, as Millie had done. He nearly snapped at the person before realizing it was Neville.

“Harry!” he said with a nervous look, “What's happened? We could hear you fighting with Malfoy all the way over at the Gryffindor table.”

“It's nothing,” Harry said, relaxing his shoulders and forcing himself to smile, “At least the mandrakes are ready. You'll have Hermione back by tomorrow.”

Neville, relieved to see Harry more at ease, reached for the pocket of his robes and drew out a crumpled piece of paper.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you, Harry,” Neville said, “I was in the hospital wing visiting Hermione earlier today, and I found this in her hand.”

Harry felt a thrill of excitement as Neville handed it to him. This had been with Hermione when she was petrified. It was agonizing to think it had been there all this time, if only someone had looked, but now at least he held what might be his first clue after talking with Aragog.

Harry carefully smoothed the paper in his hands, as if afraid it would tear. It appeared to be a page torn from a textbook. The words were printed in thick black letters, the font and the color of the parchment indicating that it must be from a very old book. Harry read...

 

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

 

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck and arms raised as he read the passage. Everything about the Basilisk matched their theories about the creature in the Chamber, and he knew that Hermione had done it. She had found the truth, and was probably on her way to tell them when she was petrified. To complete it all, written beneath the passage in neat, clear handwriting was one word. _Pipes._

“This is it, isn't it, Harry? We always thought it was a snake, and Hermione found the right one!It's been traveling through the pipes, see? That's why you're able to hear it and no one else can...”

Harry quickly read through the passage a second time. He agreed with Neville, but there was one piece that didn't quite add up.

“It says here that the Basilisk can kill you just by looking at you, but no one has died. They've only been petrified.”

Harry expected Neville to lose some of his enthusiasm, but his grin remained firmly in place. “I've been thinking about that too,” he said, “But actually, no one has looked at it directly. Colin had his camera when he was petrified, didn't he? Willowby saw it through the Grey Lady, and the Grey Lady... Well, she's already a ghost, and she can't very well die twice, can she? As for Hermione, she must have realized it too, because she had the mirror in her other hand. She must have been using it to check around corners!”

Harry stared at Neville in amazement.

“Wow...” he said after processing the information Neville had just shared with him, “That's actually pretty clever, Neville.”  
The Gryffindor blushed, but he didn't back away from the compliment, saying, “Well, I can't hang around Hermione all year without picking up a few things.”

Something still bothered Harry. He thought of Mammon, the first of the victims, and the only animal to be attacked. Had he been spared because he wasn't a human? Harry didn't think it seemed likely, as Spiders still feared the Basilisk... Then he remembered the water. Mammon had been found near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the first floor. She had flooded it that day, and the water was all over the floor. Harry could still remember laughing at Millie's drenched robes. Mammon could have followed his master, and seen the reflection of the beast in the puddles on the ground. Harry shivered to think of it. Millie may have been deadly close to the creature, and only escaped with her life because a gloomy ghost had flooded the bathroom.

Harry froze. Everything suddenly clicked into place. He looked down at Hermione's note again, at the single word scrawled at the bottom of the page. _Pipes._

“Neville,” said Harry, his voice barely above a whisper, “The spider we talked to... Aragog... He said that when the Chamber was opened before, a girl died. Do you remember where?”

Neville's smile faded at the memory of that night, but he answered Harry without a tremor in his voice, “He said she was found in a bathroom, didn't he?”

Harry nodded, Neville's memory confirming his own.

“What if she never left?”

Neville didn't appear to understand, and Harry realized he might not know about the haunted girl's toilet.

“Moaning Myrtle!” Harry hissed at him eagerly, “She's the ghost of a student who haunts a bathroom! The same bathroom near where the message was found!”

Neville gasped, “Harry, you don't think...?”

“It's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said confidently, “It has to be.”  
“But Harry, a girl's bathroom?”

Harry waved away his doubts, stating, “This school is hundreds of years old. Maybe something else once hid the entrance to the chamber. The point is, this whole thing ended there fifty years ago, and started again in the same exact spot. We have to at least check it out.”

“We?” asked Neville, his voice cracking slightly, “Harry, I went into the spider's hollow with you, but I'm not about to go investigate a haunted toilet where a Basilisk might be hiding! We need to tell a teacher.”

Harry hated to admit it, but Neville had a point. It was time for some adult supervision.

“Alright, we tell McGonagall,” he said. Professor McGonagall was not only the interim headmistress, but also Neville's head of house. They both agreed that Neville would have a better chance of convincing her than Harry.

A chance seemed to present itself as Professor McGonagall sailed back into the Great Hall, passing by Harry and Neville, who had been holding their discourse near the grand oak doors.

“Professor!” Neville cried, surprised to see her return in such haste so suddenly after their resolution was formed.

But Professor McGonagall dismissed him with a quick, “Not now, Mr. Longbottom,” and made her way to the faculty table, where Professor Sprout and Snape rose to meet her, their expressions darkening at the news she shared with them. Harry saw Professor Snape's gaze shift abruptly to meet his, and he didn't like the way the Potions Master was eyeing him.

After consulting with the teachers, McGonagall turned to face the students, who watched her with worried expressions from their seats. Her abrupt entrance had not escaped the notice of many, and the cheerful conversation quickly died away into a tense stillness. McGonagall motioned for silence, but the gesture was unnecessary, as she already had the entire school's attention.

Raising her voice to be heard clearly throughout the hall without the help of her wand, she announced, “All students will be escorted to their dormitories by their Head of House immediately. Prefects, please assist the younger students.”

Harry gave a start of surprise, and he was not alone. Turning to Neville, he saw the Gryffindor's mouth hanging open in shock. A moment ago they had considered themselves safe, but an announcement like this could only mean one thing.

While the rest of the student body recovered from their shock, the prefects wasted no time in rising from their seats. With guidance from the four House Heads, the students filed out of the Great Hall. Harry gripped Neville's hand just before the Gryffindor was pulled away by the tide of students pushing toward the doors.

“Tell McGonagall,” he said, then he turned to join the Slytherins.

Gemma Farley had a troop of first-years nervously gathered around her. She smiled at Harry as if to encourage him, but he could see the worry in her eyes. Snape took the lead of his students, walking swiftly toward the dungeons, leaving Adrian Pucey to follow behind, ensuring that no one attempted to slip away.

Snape was moving so fast, many students had to jog to keep up with the crowd. Harry almost missed an opportunity to glance down the corridor that led to Myrtle's bathroom. It was tempting to slip his cloak on right then, and walk down the corridor to put an end to this mystery once and for all. But Pucey was keeping a close eye on everyone, and Harry couldn't risk it. Still, he couldn't stop himself from glancing down the hall, and when he did, he stopped dead in his tracks.

 _The Chamber of Secrets Has been Opened..._ The message was still there, as clear as the day it had first appeared. But now, scrawled beneath it in what appeared to be blood as a second message.

_Her Skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._

Harry saw at it for only a moment before Pucey gave him a shove, ordering him to keep walking. Harry turned his head. From the dark look on his face, Harry knew that Pucey had seen the message too. But it seemed many students passed the corridor without noticing anything amiss, and Pucey likely did not want to start a panic. Harry obeyed him without protest, and with a feeling of foreboding, continued down the steps to the dungeons.

He didn't yet understand what this new message implied. A student had been taken, surely, but who? Everyone except the petrified students in the hospital wing had been in the Great Hall, and curfew was strictly enforced. Then he remembered. One student had fled the Great Hall, just before Harry stopped to speak to Neville. McGonagall followed, but she had returned alone. Harry swiveled his head left and right, searching the faces of the students around him. Where was Millie?

He guessed the truth as soon as he walked through the door of the common room, and Snape laid a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't exactly comforting, but his grip as he drew Harry away from the other students was not cruel, either.

“Potter,” he said, “I think you had better come with me.”

“It's Millie, isn't it?” Harry asked, “She's been taken.”

Snape said nothing in response, confirming Harry's worst fears. Dropping his hand without ceremony, Snape led the way to his office, near the classroom where Harry usually had Potions. Snape ushered Harry inside, closing the door and bolting it behind him. He did not offer Harry a seat, and so Harry did not take one. He merely stood in the middle of the room, shivering slightly, and looking around at the creatures floating in glass jars on the shelves of Snape's office.

“You saw the message, I take it?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded. “Is she dead?”

The news had broken over him so suddenly that he was still overcome by shock. He could ask the question in a flat voice, devoid of emotion, while inside chaos reigned.

Snape studied Harry carefully, as if not sure how to respond. Harry feared the worst until Snape finally opened his mouth and replied, “No... Professor McGonagall does not believe so.”

“And you, sir?” Harry asked, trusting that this teacher above all others would have no reason to lie to him to spare his feelings.

“I think...” Snape said slowly, again carefully measuring his words, “That she is likely to die if something is not done very soon.”

“I don't know who did it,” Harry said instantly, some of the shock starting to die away, and true terror gripping his heart, “Believe me, I've been trying. If I could prove who it was I would have turned them in already. Everyone thinks it's me, but I would never, ever do anything to hurt my friends.”

Snape shushed him with an impatient wave of his hand.

“No one is accusing you, Potter. Even I could see that you were in the Great Hall when Ms. Bulstrode disappeared. But I am asking you if you know anything. I know you and your little friends have been poking your nose in business that doesn't concern you. That doesn't matter now. If you have any information, you have to tell me now, or it may cost your friend her life.”

Harry wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to tell him all about Dobby, about Lucius Malfoy and his dark magic, about Draco and how suspicious he'd been acting all school year. But Draco Malfoy was Snape's favorite student. Hadn't Harry heard him boast just the other day that his father was sure to support Snape if he wanted to take Dumbledore's vacant seat? Harry could no more trust Snape with his suspicions than he could trust Gilderoy Lockhart to write a book based on fact.

There was only one piece of information Harry felt he could safely share with the Potions Master, and it was the one most likely to save Millie's life.

“It's a basilisk,” Harry said, “The creature in the chamber. It's a snake that can...”

“I know what a basilisk is,” Snape interrupted, “But how do you know this?”

“I can talk to snakes, remember? I've been hearing a voice, just before each attack, but no one else seems to hear it. I think that's because I'm the only one who can speak parseltongue.”

“Basilisks have been known to grow to enormous size.” Snape stated, “Even if no one heard your snake, Potter, someone would have seen it.”

Harry ran his tongue over his dry lips. “Not if it's traveling through the pipes.”

“Pipes?” Snape asked, sounding dubious.

“Yes, sir. I think... I know that the entrance to the Chamber is in the girl's lavatory on the first floor. The one by the message on the wall.”

Snape stared at Harry. He was obviously doubtful, and had many questions as to how Harry had come to this conclusion. But Harry could feel each second ticking away like it was another moment of Millie's life, and he knew they were losing time.

“Please, sir,” Harry pleaded, not waiting for the interrogation to begin, “I don't want to lose my friend. Go see for yourself if you don't believe me!”

“That won't be necessary, Mr. Potter,” said Snape smoothly, “Professor McGonagall has already dispatched Lockhart to see to the matter. I have no doubt that he is already looking into the disappearance of your friend.”

The irony in his voice was not lost on Harry, and with some irritation, he responded, “Sir, I think you and I both know Lockhart's completely useless.”

Harry was rewarded for this comment with a thin-lipped smile.

“Perhaps you're, right. Which is why I will be sharing your theories with Professor McGonagall myself.”

“Then don't wait,” Harry said, “Go to her right now and let her know. I'll tell her myself if you let me...”

“No,” Snape said sharply, “Don't presume to give the orders around here, Potter. As it stands, your theory appears to be based on conjecture. I will share the information with Professor McGonagall, and allow her to decide how best to proceed.”

Harry clenched his fists at his sides. Who knew how long it would be before Snape got to McGonagall. And what if she did not head his words? What if she wanted to speak to Harry herself, and ask him how he had learned all these things? Every second that passed was another moment in which Millie could be killed. Harry was not going to let that happen.

Snape dismissed him with orders to return to the common room and wait for news in his dormitory. Harry nodded, already knowing that he had no intention to obey. Snape unlocked the door to his office and ushered Harry out. Harry had only to wait until the teacher's back was turned to draw out his invisibility cloak from the roomy pocket of his robes, and once again vanish from outward view.

He ran directly to Myrtle's bathroom. The cloak was hardly necessary, as the halls were completely deserted. Harry passed only Nearly Headless Nick, nervously patrolling the corridor with the Bloody Baron at his side. Once the ghosts floated through an opposing wall, Harry took off again, arriving in Myrtle's bathroom slightly out of breath.

“Myrtle!” Harry called once the door had swung shut, pulling the cloak off his shoulders, “Myrtle, it's me. Harry Potter!”

He heard a faint gurgling sound from a nearby toilet, and the ghostly face of Myrtle popped out through the wooden stall door.

“You again!” she cried, “Haven't I told you before? This is a girl's toilet! Boys aren't allowed!”

“I'm not here for the toilet, Myrtle. I came to see you.”

“Me?” Myrtle asked, sounding dubious. She floated through the door and hovered a few feet in front of Harry. Alive, she couldn't have been older than a third-year. Harry saw her looking around the bathroom, as if expecting someone to pop out from one of the other stalls and lob something at her.

“Where's your friend?” she asked.

“You mean Millie? That's why I came. You see, she's been...”

“Not her,” Myrtle interrupted, wrinkling her nose at Harry, “Your other friend.”

“Blaise?” Harry asked, surprised by the question. He'd been so focused on Millie, he hadn't a passing thought of his absent friend for some time. He wondered what might have prompted the question, as Blaise hadn't been in school for weeks, but then he saw Myrtle's translucent face become more opaque, and he realized that dead or not, Myrtle was still a girl.

“Blaise is gone,” Harry said, “But I know of a way to get him back. I just need to ask you a question.”

Myrtle looked suspicious, but didn't protest, so Harry continued.

“Can I ask... How did you die?”

He expected the question to insult the sensitive spirit, but Myrtle surprised him by looking deeply flattered.

“Oh it was dreadful!” Myrtle said with a twittering laugh, “It happened right here, in this very bathroom.”

Harry felt as if his suspicions were already confirmed, but he needed a bit more to be sure. He wanted to hurry Myrtle along, but knew that interrupting the ghost would only upset her, so he waited, having no need to feign interest as Myrtle continued to talk.

“Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses,” Myrtle said, obviously eager to share her story. Harry assumed she didn't often have an opportunity to tell it. “I ran into the bathroom to cry. I was completely alone, until I heard the door open and someone came in. I was hiding in a stall with the door locked, and I couldn't see who it was at first. But then I heard a voice. A boy's voice.”

Myrtle paused and gave Harry a pointed look. Harry tried his best to look ashamed, but then nervously removed his own glasses while running a hand through his unruly hair.

“I'm sorry that Olive was teasing you,” Harry said, at once showing that he had been listening to her story, and also sympathized with her plight. After wiping the lenses of his own glasses, he carefully placed them back on his face and offered Myrtle a smile. “Some people just don't understand what it's like having glasses.”

Myrtle studied Harry's face. She did not blush for him they way she had at the mention of Blaise, but he could tell by her smirk that he had won her over.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I heard a boy's voice. He was saying something funny. It almost sounded like another language, but he might have just been whispering.”

“Who was he talking to?” Harry asked, momentarily forgetting his determination not to interrupt.

Fortunately, Myrtle was not insulted. She merely looked thoughtful, as if no one had ever asked her this question before.

“That's the thing. I don't think he was talking to anyone. It sounded like there was only one person. I was angry at him for interrupting me when I was upset, so I unlocked the door of my stall and stepped out to yell at him. Then I died.”

There was a beat in which Harry and Myrtle merely looked at one another, then he realized what Myrtle had said.

“Sorry, what?”

“I died.”

“Just like that?” asked Harry, bewildered by the anticlimax of her story. “But how? What happened?”

“I don't know,” Myrtle said with a huff, crossing her arms over her translucent chest, “I just remember seeing a pair of huge, yellow eyes. Then it was like my whole body sort of seized up, and I fell to the floor, but I wasn't in my body anymore. I was sort of floating away... I came back of course. I wanted to haunt Olive, you see. And boy, was she sorry she ever made fun of my glasses!”

“But where did you hear the voice?” Harry asked, glancing around the lavatory as if he expected the beast of fifty years prior to slide out of a stall and take Harry's life as it had Myrtle's.

“There,” Myrtle said, waving her hand vaguely toward the row of sinks opposite her toilet, “He had been speaking somewhere over there, and that's where I saw the eyes.

Harry hurried over to the sinks, walking down the row and inspecting each in turn. They looked perfectly ordinary. Harry doubled back, checking them all over again and examining every inch of them, including the pipes below. Then Harry found something. On one of the copper taps, a snake had been scratched along the side.

“That one's never worked,” Myrtle informed Harry, seeing the fixated way in which he was staring at it.

“This has to be it,” Harry whispered, still staring at the little snake.

Myrtle gave a shriek and flew back several feet. Harry turned to look at her, startled by her sudden terror.

“That's the voice!” Myrtle said, staring at Harry as if he had the power to kill her a second time, “You sound like him!”

Harry realized he must have slipped into parseltongue as he stared at the snake. It had become fairly easy for him to go back and forth between languages after practicing with Noodle all year. He felt bad for scaring Myrtle after she had helped him, but he was also elated. This meant he was on the right track. The Heir had obviously used parseltongue to open the Chamber entrance, and he probably used it to control the Basilisk, as well. Harry, as a parselmouth, could now use the same ability to save his friend.

Harry offered Myrtle the first genuine smile had shown in front of the ghost, “Don't worry, Myrtle. I'm not like him.”

Harry turned back toward the sink and looked at the little snake.

“Open,” Harry whispered, but the words came out as a hiss that even he could hear. He hardly knew if this would work, or if there was some other password blocking his way. Luckily, parseltongue was all he needed. The tap began to glow with a bright, white light, then it started to spin around wildly. The sink itself lowered down into the floor, revealing a dark, black tunnel where it once stood.

Myrtle drifted closer to Harry as he watched the transformation of the sink into a secret tunnel.

“Oh, wow!” she said with a gasp, “Are you going down there, Harry?”

Harry nodded his head, “I have to.”

“To avenge me?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure. I guess so.”

“That's sweet of you,” said Myrtle, “That, or very stupid.”

Harry chuckled to himself, surprised that he could find something to laugh at in a moment like this. He decided Myrtle wasn't so bad, after all. Bracing his hands against rim of the tunnel, Harry carefully lowered himself to the ground, poised at the edge of the wide pipe.

“Myrtle, can you do me one favor?” Harry asked just before he pushed himself into the abyss. “If I'm not back in thirty minutes, I want you to tell Professor Snape that he's the reason I'm dead.”

Myrtle agreed to pass on his message, and without another word, Harry slid down the pipe.

 


	35. The Heir of Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing I have a cold, as I had all day to lay in bed, feel sorry for myself, and churn out this chapter. It took an absurdly long time to edit, and many revisions were made in the process. I plead indulgence for my fuzzy head, and if you come across any repetitive passages or problems with continuity, please let me know. I am happy to go back and make corrections. For now, please enjoy the next installment of Harry Potter and the Spiteful Sorting Hat.

The descent was as fast as it was nauseating. Harry could see nothing in the dark, but he felt every twist and turn as the pipe led him far beneath the school. By the time he reached the end, he was covered head to toe in slime and he didn't like to think what else.

The landing was everything but soft. Wincing in pain, Harry somehow managed to stifle any noises of discomfort. He waited in silence, his eyes futilely trying to adjust to the pitch black of whatever hole he had fallen into.

After several moments passed without a sound but that of his own heartbeat, Harry felt satisfied that he was alone. He reached for the wand in his pocket, praying he hadn't accidentally snapped it in the fall. He was lucky. The wand was intact.

“ _Lumos,”_ Harry muttered, and an instant later he was bathed in a soft, white light. It was blinding after the darkness before, and Harry cast his eyes downward only to see the uncomfortable surface that had cushioned his fall.

Bones. Hundreds of them. With a sound of disgust, Harry scrambled to his feet, the bones emitting loud cracks as they broke beneath him.

“Rats,” Harry said aloud, looking closer at the tiny skeletons. The basilisk must have been feeding on them all this time.

Harry lifted his wand, scanning the rest of his surroundings to see where he landed. It seemed that the passage had taken him to a sort of nexus, where many of the school's pipes came together, emptying into the large tunnel where Harry now stood. He observed the network of labyrinthine passageways branching away and shivered. It was very damp, and very cold. He didn't like to think of Millie waiting alone and afraid at the end of one of these pipes.

He decided to follow the fragments of rat bones down one of the tunnels, believing the remains would lead him straight to the basilisk's lair. Turning a sharp bend, Harry had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. He regretted this in the next instant, as his hand was filthy with the same slime that covered the rest of his body. What he had mistaken for the body of a gigantic serpent turned out to be only the hollow husk of its skin.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief before he realized that the skin was indicative of the size of its owner. He tried not to think about this as he planned his next move.

He no longer needed the bones to show him the way. The snake skin served as a guide. Harry walked alongside it, sometimes daring to run his hand along the fragile surface, marveling at the ripples that perfectly duplicated each of the snake's scales.

This was not idle fancy. In the back of Harry's mind, he was taking note of the body's length, longer than any snake he'd ever heard of. The sensation of the scales under his fingertips provided a welcome distraction from his fear, and he walked along as quietly as he could manage with his feet in a few inches of water, counting the scales to prevent himself from imagining all the horrible ways he could die.

Where the snake skin ended, Harry found a door. At least, he assumed it was a door. The entrance was guarded by two entwined serpents, their bodies carved into a solid stone wall. As Harry drew closer, he saw that their eyes were set with two large, glittering emeralds.

“ _Open,_ ” Harry said without hesitation. He had come too far to turn back now, and time was of the essence if he was going to save Millie.

The serpents smoothly unwound the knot around each other, and the wall between them cracked apart as their bodies slithered away into darkness. Harry entered the chamber, overcome by fear but determined to see this through.

There were torches set along the entire length of the chamber, the flames flickering with an enchanted green light, much like the lights of his dormitory. Between the torches, Harry could see a series of massive stone pillars, encircled by more carved serpents, their bodies twisting all the way toward the ceiling and disappearing into the shadows far above his head. Harry wondered if the basilisk waited in the chamber for him, hiding in the long shadows cast by the stone pillars. But he heard nothing. Not a sound. And no sign of Millie anywhere.

“ _Nox_ ,” said Harry, dismissing the light from his wand, but keeping it in front of him as he proceeded forward.

The chamber stretched on and on. Every step he took echoed around the empty space, and he quickly abandoned any pretense of secrecy, quickening his pace to a run, growing more desperate the further he went with no sign of Millie.

His steps slowed as he finally approached the end of the long hall. A massive, dark shape loomed into view before him. It was no serpent, that was easy enough to see. Passing the last pair of pillars, Harry gazed upward at a tall statue of a man. He had a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of his stone robes, and as Harry traced this path down to the statue's gray feet, he saw a figure laying face-down on the ground.

Recognizing the mass of long, black hair, he went running to Millie's side, dropping to his knees beside her.

“Millie,” Harry whispered, his voice sounding too loud in the still chamber, “Millie, please wake up. You're going to be all right now. Please, please get up...”

But Millie neither moved nor spoke. Harry had the distinct, horrible impression that she wasn't breathing. Flinging his wand to the side, he grabbed Millie's shoulder and turned her toward him. Her face was deathly white, like that of a skeleton, and she was freezing cold to the touch. Harry hoped that she was only petrified, but her eyes were closed, as if in sleep, and her arms were limp as Harry tried to lift her up. She wasn't petrified, and yet Harry couldn't bear to think of the other possibility.

“Millie, come on,” Harry said, fighting back tears as he tugged on her arm, “We can't stay here, I have to get you out...”

It was no use. Millie was either knocked unconscious, or something much worse. Harry knew he wasn't strong enough to lift her, and he began looking around for his wand, thinking to levitate her instead.

Harry froze. His wand was not laying on the floor where he'd thrown it, but was held by a tall, black-haired boy. He stood only a few feet away from Harry, leaning against the nearest pillar. Harry was certain the boy had not been there before, and yet Harry had not heard anyone approach.

When the initial shock faded, Harry recognized him. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a dense fog, but there was no mistaking the boy in Slytherin House robes with a gleaming silver prefect badge on his chest.

“Tom...” Harry breathed when he was certain he was not going to scream, “Tom Riddle?”

Riddle nodded, his eyes riveted to Harry's face.

“ _Draco_ ,” he said coldly, his voice filled with obvious sarcasm. Riddle must have discovered he'd been given a false name, though Harry did not know how he could have guessed.

“What are you doing here, Tom?” Harry asked. Tom Riddle had attended Hogwarts fifty years ago, and yet he stood before Harry, not a day older than sixteen. Harry noted again his strange appearance, and the slightly translucent appearance of his skin. “Are you.... a ghost?”

Riddle continued to study Harry, looking as if he wondered how anyone could be so dense.

“I told you before, didn't I?” he replied, “I'm a memory. Preserved in a diary all these years.”

Riddle used Harry's wand to point between the giant feet of the statue. Lying on the floor a short distance from Millie was the journal, laying open to a deceptively blank page.

“How did it...” Harry started to ask, but then something occurred to him. He looked down at Millie's motionless form and thought he detected the telltale sign of ink smudged on her fingertips.

“That's right, _Draco,_ ” Riddle said in mock praise, “Your _Millie_ is the one who brought me here.”

“Millie stole the diary from my room,” said Harry, testing the theory out loud.

“Oh, she did more far more than that.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, “What have you done to Millie?”

“You don't have to look at me like that,” said Riddle, “She isn't dead or anything. Not yet.”

Harry climbed unsteadily to his feet. He wasn't sure he could tackle a memory, but if it came down to it, he was certainly going to try.

“Reverse it,” he demanded, “Bring Millie back right now.”

Riddle's sickening smile grew wider.

“It cannot be undone.”

“What does that mean? What have you done?” Harry shouted, his voice echoing around the cavernous chamber.

“The diary,” Riddle replied softly, “Surely you guessed? She's been writing to me all year.”

Harry did not blame Riddle for making fun of him. He had been incredibly stupid. He'd seen Millie scribbling in a book countless times throughout the year. How could he not realize that the book she's always drawn in was the same that he found in the fire?

“Would you like to know what she told me?” Riddle asked, his voice light, as if they were having a pleasant chat over tea. “She's told me all the secrets she feared to share with anyone else. Can you guess what they were? That her parents are disappointed in her, how she tries live up to their expectations, how the other girls tease her for being ugly and awkward... And how she doesn't understand why the famous, powerful Harry Potter would ever want to be friends with someone like her.”

Harry's stomach twisted. He didn't know if he could trust Riddle. Was everything he said true? Millie never talked about her parents to Harry or Blaise, and she never mentioned being bullied by their classmates. Harry always assumed everyone was too afraid of her, but perhaps he was wrong.

He looked down at Millie, realizing too late all the subtle ways she tried to tell him that something was wrong. Her sullen mood, her reclusive nature... But Harry hadn't wanted to pry. He never pushed her to tell him the truth. And now it had come to this. Riddle had her under some sort of spell, and Harry still did not understand why.

Then a chilling idea occurred to him. Millie had warned him against the book when he found it. She said it could be cursed... And they had known that Lucius Malfoy sent something to Hogwarts, something that Dobby said was evil... Something connected to the Dark Arts...

Harry looked up at Riddle, who smiled back at the expression on his face.

“There it is,” Riddle said happily, “I knew you would get there eventually, _Draco_.”

“It was you,” Harry said, “You're the Heir of Slytherin. You always were, even when Hagrid...”

“Hagrid!” Riddle interrupted with a laugh, “Yes, he was the perfect scapegoat, wasn't he? I needed someone to take the blame, and no one would suspect my word against the giant half-breed.”

“You used him,” Harry continued, “Just like you're using Millie now.”

Riddle smirked. “No... Not quite. You see I needed Millie. That is, I need her soul. The more of herself she confided in me, the stronger I grew, until I was powerful. More powerful than your friend. Then I was finally able to overcome her.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked him, his mouth dry.

“You still don't understand?” Riddle asked, sounding slightly disappointed, “And here I thought you had it all figured out. Dear Millicent is the one who opened the Chamber. She wrote the messages on the wall. She sent the basilisk after the students. It was all her, acting on my commands.

“At first she didn't realize what had happened to her. It was all very amusing for a time. But eventually she grew suspicious of the lost time, the lapses in memory... I think she guessed the truth, or a part of it, and she decided to get rid of me. And that's where you come in, _Harry_.”

Until now, Riddle had insisted on using the fake name Harry had given him. Now it seemed he'd known the truth all along.

“How do you know who I am?” Harry asked.

Riddle rolled his eyes.

“Harry, the scar is right there on your forehead.”

Harry's hand shot up, his fingertips touching the thin line of raised scar tissue. He tried to cover it, but of course it was no use. The truth was already out.

The perpetual smile on Riddle's lips faded away, reforming into a thin line.

“The Boy Who Lived... Millicent told me everything. How everyone suspected _you_ of being the Heir of Slytherin. That you were famous. Famous for killing the most powerful wizard that ever lived. I didn't know who you were when you found my diary. How could I? I couldn't see you then as I do now. But Millie... She saw you with the book, and she stole me back. She demanded to know what I had told you. She was terrified of her secret getting out. That's when I learned, when she told me... I had been talking to Harry Potter himself...”

“Why do you care?” Harry asked abruptly, “Voldemort was after your time. Why does it matter to you if I defeated him?”

“Voldemort is my past, present, and future,” answered Riddle. He lifted Harry's wand in the air and began to trace letters, which hung in the air, glowing like embers.

 

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

 

Then he waved the wand, and the letters rearranged themselves to form a new message:

 

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

 

Harry could not stop himself. He burst out laughing.

Riddle had no idea how to respond to this sudden fit of amusement. He turned toward Harry, the look of surprise on his face quickly turning to one of fury.

“What?” he demanded, “What's so funny?”

“That... is... precious!” Harry said, unable to keep the hysterical giggles from bubbling up, “Did you come up with that on your own? Doodled it in the margins of your textbook?”

“Stop it,” Riddle said, obviously rattled, “I am Lord Voldemort, you imbecile! The greatest dark wizard who ever lived!”  
“Why not _Immortal Dove Lord_?” Harry asked, still consumed with laughter, “No, no! I have a better one! _Mild Doormat Lover_!”

“Enough!” Riddle screamed, and Harry heard a menacing hiss respond from the darkness.

The threatening sound was enough to silence his laughter, but the smile was still on Harry's face as he met Riddle's eye. The basilisk was in the chamber, hidden nearby and waiting only for Riddle's command to strike. Harry knew he probably only had a few minutes left to live, and he planned to make the most of them.

“You call yourself the greatest dark wizard,” he said, “But you're wrong. You aren't the greatest. I am.”

Riddle's eyes flashed in anger, but he said nothing. He seemed to be waiting for Harry to reveal something, and his hunger to know how his future self had been defeated by the slime-covered boy in front of him was obvious.

“Do you know what people say about me?” Harry continued, “They say that I am the next Dark Lord. They say that I was able to defeat you as a baby because I have more power than you can even imagine. And that wasn't the only time you were destroyed. I defeated you again my first year at Hogwarts. Do you want to know what became of you? The Voldemort I fought was nothing but a gross parasite, living on the back of some coward's head, drinking unicorn blood just to survive. Until I killed your host with my bare hands.”

There was more bluff than truth to his story. Harry had been saved by his mother's sacrifice, not through any power of his own. But the lie was doing its work on Riddle. Harry could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“You think you're more powerful than me?” Riddle asked, “Shall we put it to the test?”

“Whatever you say, _Mr. Molded Violator._ ”

Riddle, furious beyond words, turned and stalked away. He came to a stop between the feet of the gigantic statue, looking down at his old diary. Harry couldn't see his face while he had his back turned, but he heard Riddle hiss in parseltongue, “ _Come to me, servant of Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.”_

The basilisk, hidden in the shadows of the chamber, began making its way into the light of the torches. Harry turned away as soon as he saw the venomous green scales slide into view. If he looked the snake in the eyes, that would be the end.

 _“Kill him,”_ Riddle hissed.

Without a wand or a weapon of any kind, Harry did the only thing he could do. He ran.

He heard the basilisk moving toward him, its heavy body slithering across the damp floor. Harry feared the creature would overtake him at any moment, and he would find himself staring into the same yellow eyes that killed Myrtle.

Outrunning the serpent was impossible. Thinking fast, Harry jumped to the side and began to weave around the pillars. He drew out his father's invisibility cloak and threw it over himself, then stopped to catch his breath, trying to keep as silent as possible.

The basilisk, confused by his sudden disappearance, brought it rapid pursuit to an immediate halt. For a moment, both the snake and its master stared in confusion at the space Harry had once occupied, then Harry heard Riddle give a high, harsh laugh.

“Your little parlor tricks won't work for long, Harry!” he called, “Sooner or later, you'll have to show yourself, or else your little friend will die, and I will return for good.”

Harry ignored his taunt. The basilisk had started to move again, slowly this time. He caught the reflection of the beast's scales on the damp stone nearby, too close for comfort. It was searching for him.

“ _Listen to me,_ ” Harry said, easily switching to parseltongue, “ _You don't have to do this. Don't attack me. Stand down._ ”

He'd taken a risk trying to reason with the basilisk, but he'd only revealed his location. He was forced into flight again as the snake resumed the chase.

“Aren't you full of surprises, Potter?” Riddle said. For some reason, he sounded angry again, “You thought you would beat me with parseltongue? Well, it doesn't matter if you have the gift! I am the Heir of Slytherin! The beast will only listen to its true master!”

He hissed again at the snake, urging it to move faster, to sniff him out of his hiding place, to sink its fangs into his body...

Harry was doomed. The sudden realization that this was really happening, that he would die here in this chamber, hidden far underground, broke over Harry like a crushing wave. It was then that Harry realized just how alone he was. Hagrid was wasting away in prison. Blaise was miles away, safe from the dangers of the school. And Millie, the only friend who stayed behind, was lying on the chamber floor, near death. Even Dumbledore was gone, and without him, there would be no one left to stop a young Voldemort from taking over the school if Harry failed.

Dodging around the pillars in an attempt to throw the basilisk off his trail, Harry thought back to the night in Hagrid's cabin, before Harry met Aragog. He'd nearly forgotten what Dumbledore said that night, as both he and Hagrid were escorted off school grounds.

_Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it._

With nothing left to lose, Harry opened his mouth and screamed, “HELP!”

He didn't know what he expected to happen, but he wasn't afraid of revealing his position now. The snake would find him eventually, and Harry was desperate for any kind of assistance.

“Someone, please help me!” he shouted again, ripping his father's cloak from his shoulders as he ducked behind another pillar.

Bracing himself against the column, his eyes shut tight against the threat of the basilisk's gaze, Harry heard Riddle laughing at him, finding immense pleasure in Harry's plea for help. But then Harry heard something else, something that did not belong in that cold, dark place.

Riddle must have heard it too, because his cruel laughter was suddenly cut short.

It was music, but a song unlike Harry had ever heard. The notes floated to his ears, soft, but eerie, and he felt shivers run up and down his spine. As it grew louder, it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and filled him with a strange mixture of courage and dread. He wanted to open his eyes to see the creature that made such a strange sound, but he was too afraid of certain death to risk it.

“Is that... a phoenix?” he heard the voice of Tom Riddle say. Then the music stopped, and Harry felt a rush of cool air as a pair of powerful wings swept over him.

“Fawkes?” Harry asked.

Brush of a feather against his cheek, and something fell into his lap. Then the bird was flying away from him. Harry's eyes snapped open as he cried out, begging the phoenix not to leave him and forgetting in his panic the danger of the basilisk's gaze.

He saw Fawkes, not the fledgling or molting bird from before, but a phoenix in its prime. It was about the size of a swan, crimson red in color, with glittering, golden tail feathers as long as a peacock's. It soared in a wide arc around the high chamber, and with a piercing cry, dove toward the basilisk, coiled to strike in the center of the hall.

Harry averted his eyes as soon as he spied the basilisk, terrified to see how close it had come to his hiding place. If Fawkes had waited a moment later, Harry might already be dead. His eyes turned away from the dueling beasts, Harry glanced in his lap to see what the bird brought him.

It was the Sorting Hat.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Harry shouted in indignation.

He was not alone. While he cried out in frustration, Riddle began howling in outrage.

Harry could not resist. He turned his gaze toward the basilisk again, and saw the source of Riddle's anger. Fawkes flew above the head of the basilisk, who had lifted its evil eye in defense against the airborne creature. Harry watched, amazed, as Fawkes attacked the basilisk, diving toward its face and ripping at its scales with sharp talons, or else pecking at is deadly eyes with a hooked beak.

Dumbledore must have sent his bird to help Harry, and the Sorting Hat had to play a role in his plan. Harry had hoped for a weapon of some kind to defeat the snake, but with no other options, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He put the hat on his head.

“I need help,” Harry thought in desperation, “I don't know what to do, and Millie is dying. Please, please help me!”

He expected to hear the low, quiet voice of the hat in his ear. He did not expect to feel a soft thump on the top of his head. Confused, Harry pulled the hat off and held it in front of him, searching the interior for the object that struck him.

Something glittered in the pointed end of the hat. Harry dug his hand inside and pulled out... a necklace.

Harry sat in stunned silence as Riddle continued to scream, his words again dissolving into an angry hiss as he commanded the basilisk to leave the phoenix be and to continue its search for Harry.

“I'm going to die, aren't I?” Harry asked himself. He had no idea how a necklace was supposed to help him defeat a giant killer snake, and he didn't have time to figure it out. The basilisk, now blind, could still kill him with its powerful fangs.

He slipped the long chain around his neck without thinking, conscious only that he needed to hold on to the necklace, praying that Dumbledore wouldn't have sent it to him without reason. Ducking around the pillar, he made a mad dash back down the chamber. He was determined not to leave Millie behind.

He came to a stop near Millie's side, ignoring the irate Riddle that remained near his old diary. His form was less blurry now, and Harry knew he had nearly drained Millie of all her life force. The basilisk had turned toward them, heeding Riddle's shouts that Harry was there as he ordered the beast to strike.

Harry forgot to close his eyes, but it didn't matter now. Fawkes had blinded the beast entirely. Dark red blood ran from its ruined eyes, spilling over its vivid green scales as it swiftly slithered toward Harry.

It came closer, ever closer, opening its mouth wide to reveal long fangs, dripping with saliva and venom. Harry stared into the monster's throat, knowing that soon he would be swallowed whole, while Millie was left to rot in in the chamber. A skeleton, just like the rats in the pipes.

At the last moment, Harry instinctively threw his arms over his face as if to protect himself and he screamed, “ _STOP!_ ”

Face to face with the serpent, Harry couldn't help but revert to parseltongue. His command was a hiss, and to his surprise, the snake came to an immediate halt.

“ _What are you doing?”_ Riddle screeched when he saw the basilisk hesitate. “ _Kill him!”_

“ _Don't!_ ” Harry said, fearful that the snake would follow his master's orders. But he had nothing to fear. The snake appeared to take no notice of Riddle. Instead, it closed its wide jaws.

Unable to see Harry, its tongue flickered out, tasting the air. The long, forked tongue moved uncomfortably close to Harry's face, before lightly lashing against the pendant hanging against Harry's chest.

 _What is your bidding, master?_ Harry heard the snake hiss.

Harry couldn't believe his ears. He looked down at the pendant, for the first time noticing that it appeared to be a locket. Staring at the insignia, Harry realized he was looking at the letter S, molded onto the gold metal beautifully, and inlaid with glittering emerald gems.

“Slytherin...” Harry muttered to himself. The locket had belonged to the founder. That was the only explanation that made sense.

Riddle was still screaming at the snake, who no longer headed his commands. It was waiting for Harry to give it direction. It needed him to give it purpose.

Harry glanced once more at the locket around his neck, then he looked at Riddle. He was nearly opaque now, which meant that Millie didn't have much time. If the basilisk had not been blind, perhaps its gaze would have been powerful enough to defeat a phantom like Riddle, as it had the Grey Lady. But there was another option. The basilisk had more than one weapon at its disposal. Harry glanced at Riddle's feet, and saw the diary laying there, still open to a seemingly blank page.

Riddle finally seemed to realize he no longer had control over the basilisk. He lifted Harry's wand, still tightly grasped in his hand, toward Harry. But Fawkes was faster, and before Riddle could utter the killing curse, the phoenix had swooped down, snatching the wand from his grasp.

Flying low, Fawkes dropped the wand over Harry, who caught it out of the air like an experienced Seeker would a Golden Snitch.

“ _Accio_ , diary!” Harry shouted without missing a beat, and the book flew from between Riddle's feet into Harry's outstretched palm.

“STOP!” Riddle screeched, his voice full of fear and anger, “YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!”

But Harry knew exactly what he was doing. Holding the book out in front of him, he commanded the basilisk to bite.

The serpent opened its mouth, and brought one of its fangs down on the journal. But blind, and unable to see its target, the fang pierced not only the diary, but Harry's hand as well.

Harry and Riddle were both screaming in pain. The book began to gush black ink, staining the white pages and mixing with the red of Harry's blood. Harry recoiled from the shock of the bite, but the pain lasted only a second as the venom began to course through him, numbing his hand and sending little tingling waves up his arm toward his elbow.

Riddle continued to scream as if his soul was being ripped apart, and indeed it was. He fell to the floor, screaming and writhing against the ground, his form deteriorating fast, splintering away in fragments from his body. And then he was gone.

It was all over in a moment. Harry had almost no time to relish the victory. The numbness of the bite had quickly been replaced by a white-hot burning in his arm, spreading from the wound. Harry dropped to his knees, his good hand pressing against the floor in an effort to keep himself upright. His vision was swimming.

In his last moments, he tried to take comfort in the fact that he had saved Millie. Or if she was already past saving, at least he killed Voldemort. Again.

Brush of a feather against his cheek. He didn't know when he had collapsed fully to the floor, but he was distantly aware that Fawkes was with him. The Phoenix rested by his side, its head laying against his wounded hand. His vision was now so blurred he couldn't be certain, but it seemed to him as if the bird were crying. Perhaps it was sad that he had to die.

Dying itself wasn't so bad. Even the pain had gone away. He was only angry at himself for dying before he could take Millie back to the surface, and he wondered if she would be safe now that the diary had been destroyed. Suddenly his vision cleared, and he saw Millie looking down at him, a look of pain and sadness on her face.

“Oh no,” Harry thought, “It didn't work after all.”

He thought they were both dead, and that Millie was disappointed in his failure. But as Millie pulled him up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders with a tight embrace, reality came crashing back into focus.

He was still on the cold stone floor of the chamber. The tattered and ink-stained pages of Riddle's diary lay close to his side, next to Fawkes who stared at him, ruffling his red and gold feathers. Harry, stunned to find himself still alive, looked down at his hand and saw that the bite mark was fully healed. Dried blood from where he'd been bitten still remained, but the skin was smooth and whole, without even a scar to mark where the basilisk's fang had punctured his skin.

Stranger still, Millie was sobbing. Arms still locked around Harry's neck, she dug her chin into his shoulder and positively wailed. She was squeezing him so tight it was painful, but Harry was so relieved she wasn't hurt that he didn't care. He returned the hug, patting Millie's back in an attempt to soothe her.

“It's all right, Millie. I'm okay. Fawkes must've done something to heal me, see?”

Millie pulled away from him, and he tried to show her his hand, but the miserable look didn't leave her face.

“Harry, it's all my fault!” Millie said, the sobs she fought to hold back choking her as she tried to explain. “I didn't want to do any of it, Harry, but he made me! I... I opened the chamber and killed Hagrid's chickens and left those messages on the wall... It was all me!”

“I know, Millie,” Harry said, “But you're wrong about one thing. It wasn't really you. The book was cursed.”

Millie nodded her head, seeming to draw courage from the understanding in Harry's voice.

“I tried to get rid of it, you know. I threw it in the fire. But then you found it! Oh Harry, why didn't you just leave it alone?”

“You tried to save me,” Harry said, “You're the one who broke into my room. To steal the book back so I wouldn't write in it.”

Millie shook her head, dropping her face to the floor in shame.

“That's not it...” she said quietly, “I thought that if he told you... If you knew all the things that I had done... You and Blaise wouldn't want to be my friend anymore.”

Now it was Harry's turn to pull her into a hug. On a normal day, she would push him away, sneer at him for attempting to get close to her, or even put a hex on him. But this was not a normal day, and Millie returned his hug gratefully. Neither one of them was good with words, and Harry could think of no better way to show Millie that all was forgiven.

“No more secrets,” Harry said, pulling away first, “From now on, if something is bothering us, anything at all, we have to talk to each other.”

Millie's face twisted. Harry could tell that she didn't like the idea, but she nodded her head in agreement.

“Then you have to tell me what that thing is around your neck,” she said, pointing down to Harry's chest.

Harry had nearly forgotten the locket. He lifted it up, inspecting the shining emeralds again.

“It came out of the Sorting Hat,” Harry explained. Then he remembered the hat, and glanced around for the magical garment.

He saw the basilisk first. It had slithered to a far corner, attempting to hide itself in the shadows unsuccessfully. Harry could hear it hissing in pain, and he felt pity for the poor creature. It was as much a victim of Riddle's whims as Millie had been. But with a different master, someone who wouldn't command it to hurt others...

“Find the hat, Millie,” Harry said, climbing unsteadily to his feet, “I think I dropped it somewhere near the end of the chamber. I'll meet you there.”

Millie followed the direction of Harry's gaze and shuddered when she saw the coils of the giant serpent, but she too climbed to her feet and obeyed Harry's directive.

Harry walked cautiously toward the basilisk, uttering a quiet hiss of greeting as he approached, not wanting to startle the wounded creature. The snake turned its face toward him causing Harry to flinch. But he had nothing to fear. The basilisk's gaze would never harm another person again.

 _Master,_ the snake hissed, _Master, it hurts..._

 _“I know,”_ Harry replied, “ _I'm sorry. You did well. I won't let anyone hurt you now. But you need to promise me, you'll never hurt anyone again.”_

The snake uttered another pained hiss, but it nodded its head to Harry, giving its promise.

Harry had an idea.

“ _I know someone who can help you. I have to go now, but I'll come back with him. Remember, you can't harm him. You can't harm anyone.”_

_I understand. I will obey..._

Harry, satisfied, patted the serpent's scaly side with something almost like affection. He glanced down at the locket, curious about what other powers it might contain. But now was not the time. Millie waited at the end of the chamber, holding the tattered Sorting Hat in her hands, Fawkes perched on her shoulder. Harry dropped the locket down the front of his jumper, shivering slightly as the cold metal touched his bare skin.

He joined Millie, and the two of them made their way slowly through the tunnels under the school. Harry paused only to make sure the chamber entrance was shut. The stone serpents slithered back together as they walked past. The basilisk would remain inside until his return.

“How will we get back to the surface, Harry?” Millie asked.

Then a voice echoed from around a bend in the tunnel. They jumped in fright, then the voice called out again. It was calling Harry's name, and it sounded furious.

“Potter! Potter, I know you're down here! I swear, if you aren't already dead, I'm going to kill you!”

“Professor Snape!” Harry said happily, “He got my message!”

Millie gave Harry a look of astonishment, but Harry paid it no mind. After their experience in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was thrilled to hear a familiar voice, even it it belonged to his least favorite teacher. Taking Millie's hand, he led her down the tunnel, toward the Potions Master who waited to expel them both.

 


	36. Bonus - Snape and McGonagall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we take a short break away from the main story. I thought it would be fun to show how Snape received news of Harry's imminent demise. I hope you all like it. I really enjoy scenes with McGonagall and Snape together, and would like to write more in the future. For now, please enjoy this quick installment.

He waited only to shut the door behind Potter to cast the spell. Turning to face his empty office, Severus Snape waved his wand, needing no words to invoke his patronus.

The familiar doe materialized before him, shimmering silvery-white. Snape stared into its large eyes for a moment, lost in a memory, before issuing his commands in a few simple words.

“A message for Albus Dumbledore,” he said, “You're needed at Hogwarts. A student has been taken. The Chamber has been found.”

Then doe's misty form shivered in the still air, and she was gone. Snape would never understand how the charm sought out its intended recipient, but it was a faster way to communicate than by owl, and he didn't have much time.

His message safely dispatched, there was only one thing more left to do. Sweeping out of his office at a brisk pace, he made his way directly toward McGonagall's office.

The Deputy Headmistress demonstrated her loyalty to Dumbledore by refusing to use the headmaster's quarters during his absence. Snape knew she had faith in his return, school directors be damned.

It mattered little to Snape what room she occupied, though in this case, it was better for him that she retain her office, as it was less of a walk from his. Taking advantage of the few secret passages he knew in the castle, he arrived at her door.

It was open, and he could see the Transfiguration teacher bowed over her desk, her usually cool expression marred by a furrowed brow.

“May I interrupt, Professor?” Snape asked.

“Severus!” McGonagall exclaimed, startled out of her thoughts, “Yes, come in."

She motioned to a chair opposite herself, which Snape accepted calmly.

“I've just sent an owl to the Bulstrodes,” McGonagall continued, “Poor family. I've asked them to aparate to Hogsmeade. I'll have to send one of the carriages to receive them. I really have no idea what I'm going to say.”

“I've sent a message to Albus as well,” Snape said with considerable ease, “I expect he will arrive himself at any moment. Perhaps he can speak to the girls parents?”

“Thank Merlin for that,” said McGonagall, sighing heavily.

“And Lockhart?” Snape asked.

McGonagall's frown deepened to a grimace. “Gone, the rotten coward. I expect he thought I would charge him with going to the Chamber to rescue the girl. As if I would trust him with such an important task. As it stands, we don't even know where the Chamber is.”

“That is why I've come, Minerva. I believe I may know where we can locate the Chamber of Secrets.”

McGonagall's mouth dropped open. She recovered quickly, asking in hurried tones, “Where? And how?”

“Potter believes the entrance is hidden in the first floor girl's lavatory.”

“Potter? What's he got to do with anything?”

“Apparently, he and his little friends have been looking into the matter all year. I believe that is why Bulstrode was taken. She and Potter are close.”

Snape had talked himself into the belief that Bulstrode had brought on her fate by associating with Potter, but he kept this opinion wisely to himself. McGonagall stared thoughtfully at her desk, eyes absently fixed on a cup of tea that had long since grown cold.

“You say Potter told you this?”

“Yes.”

“And where is Potter now, exactly?”

“After he told me what he knew, I sent him back to the common room. I did not think it necessary to bring him along.”

McGonagall's eyes snapped back up, locking onto Snape's with an expression of absolute incredulity.

“Did you actually see him enter the common room, Severus?”

For some reason, Snape felt his palms grow sweaty. He was suddenly nervous, and he could not explain to himself why.

“No. I sent my message to Dumbledore immediately after dismissing him.”

McGonagall groaned and lowered her gaze once again, this time cradling her forehead in both hands.

“Do you mean to tell me that you allowed Harry James Potter out of your sight, knowing that one of his closest friends had been kidnapped? The same Harry Potter who got through all of our enchantments to protect the Philosopher's Stone when he was only eleven years old? The boy who has long been suspected the Heir of Slytherin, who speaks parseltongue, and who just informed you that he knows the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? Is that the Harry Potter we've been referring to?”

Snape's mouth had gone dry. He could feel his tongue trying to stick to the roof of his mouth as he formed his next words.

“I have made a terrible mistake.”

“Oh my god, Severus. You are so bad with children.”

“We don't know that he actually went by himself,” Snape said, trying to reassure himself as much as McGonagall. “Albus will be here and then...”

“He'll do what, Severus?” McGonagall interrupted, “Award Potter points for his fortitude? Let us hope that the girl hasn't been killed. Slytherin may even win the house cup!”

At that moment, a spectral form floated through the wall of McGonagall's office. For a moment, Snape believed it was his patronus, returned to him with some confirmation of Dumbledore's arrival. But he was mistaken. It was only one of the school ghosts, a young girl in a uniform with a pair of thick glasses.

“Oh there you are!” she said in a tone of delight, “I tried your office but didn't find you there.”

“Myrtle?” McGonagall asked, though the ghost had been addressing Snape, “What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to wait,” Myrtle said in a simpering tone that immediately put Snape's nerves on edge. “He told me not to come find you until thirty minutes had passed. But it's so exciting, I couldn't resist leaving straightaway.”

“And who asked you to find me?” Snape asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

“Harry Potter,” said Myrtle, “He told me to tell you that he's dead, and it's your fault.”

She seemed utterly delighted to bring the report. McGonagall's elbow struck her teacup, and it fell to the floor with a crack of breaking china. Neither professor paid it any mind. They were both staring at Myrtle in shock.

“Or at least he's probably dead by now,” Myrtle added. “He went down into the Chamber to avenge me. But if he has died and come back a ghost, I haven't seen him.”

Snape did not want to look at McGonagall. He didn't want to see the look of stern disappointment on her face, so familiar to him when he had been her student, rather than her colleague.

Reminding himself that he was a man, and that this formidable professor might glare at him all she wanted, but could no longer give him detention, Snape turned and met her eye.

She was glaring at him, disappointed certainly, but not surprised. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Snape cleared his throat and spoke first.

“I'll just go fetch Potter, then, shall I?”

“Yes, Severus. I think that would be best.”

Snape offered her a curt nod, then turned to face Myrtle with a look of indifference, relying on the cold mask he had been crafting for years to hide the mounting panic within.

“Lead the way.”

“You don't have to be in such a hurry,” Myrtle said, “I'm sure he's doing just fine on his own.”

Something in his expression must have warned the ghost not to trifle with him, because she immediately turned and swept through the open office door, waiting in the corridor for him to follow. Snape made to follow her directly, when McGonagall called after him.

“Severus, if the boy isn't dead, try to take better care of him in the future! He's one of yours, after all! That makes him your problem!”

 _You have no idea_ , Snape thought to himself, following Myrtle down the stairs to the first floor, and growing more angry with each step.

 


	37. Dobby's Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get drunk and upload another chapter!
> 
> But seriously, this chapter got thrown together in a hurry, as I wanted to get an update out this weekend. If you come across anything that doesn't quite flow well, or basic spelling/grammatical errors, please let me know! I am happy to go in and make the necessary corrections.
> 
> As for the story, this is only the penultimate chapter of Harry's second year! Look forward to the next chapter, "Reunions," coming soon!

Harry was beginning to welcome the idea of expulsion. Anything would be better than listening to Snape complain. The Potions Master had done nothing but berate Harry since they ascended the pipe back to Myrtle's bathroom, where the disappointed ghost had only lingered long enough to see that Harry was still alive, before sulking in one of the stalls.

Snape then began leading them to the headmaster's office, never tiring of hurling abuse at Harry along the way. He ignored Millie entirely, who followed them in silence, absently petting Fawkes's feathers for comfort. Harry regularly checked on her, taking comfort in her presence, even if she was pale and mute.

Meanwhile, Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Snape so loquacious, not even while insulting Longbottom during potions class.

“You must have a death wish,” he concluded just as they reached the hidden entrance to the headmaster's office, “That, or you're as careless as your father. Either way, I'm beginning to see this sort of meddling will be a pattern of yours. Am I expected to rescue you from a hidden chamber every year?”

“You didn't rescue me,” Harry replied, “I saved myself from Quirrell last year, and I saved Millie on my own just now. No thanks to you.”

Harry's calm retort finally silenced the Potions Master, who was clearly shocked that Harry would have the audacity to speak to him in such a way. Harry didn't care. He'd already broken countless school rules, fought off a basilisk, and defeated Voldemort for the third time. He was tired, and it didn't matter anymore what Snape might do to him.

Harry pushed past him to ascend the moving staircase, conscious that if he waited for the professor to find his voice, he was likely to start raving again. As the steps reached the landing outside the office door, Harry paused just long enough to give Millie another glance. She met his eye and gave him a firm nod to show that she was ready, then Harry let the door swing open.

He thought he'd been prepared for this moment, that after the Chamber of Secrets, nothing more would surprise him. But he was completely wrong, because the scene in the headmaster's office was nothing like what he'd expected.

He expected a confrontation with Professor McGonagall, but it was not the Deputy Headmistress seated behind the desk. Instead, she stood at the elbow of Albus Dumbledore, who peered at Harry over his steepled fingers, while Millie's parents sat in chairs before him, their backs to the door.

Fawkes gave a soft cry of greeting and flew from Millie's shoulder to the perch behind Dumbledore. The disturbance caused the Bulstrodes to turn, and with gasps of surprise, they jumped from their seats and ran to her, pushing past Harry without taking any notice of him.

Mrs. Bulstrode was sobbing uncontrollably, and even Mr. Bulstrode seemed to find it difficult to keep from crying. Harry could hardly believe his eyes. It was hard to believe that the emotional pair in front of him were the same cold, unfeeling couple he'd met that summer.

Millie was as surprised as Harry. She was completely taken-off guard as her parents wrapped their arms around her, and it took her several moments to find her voice again.

“Mum?” she asked when she was sufficiently recovered, “Dad? What are you...?”

“They arrived as soon as Professor McGonagall sent word,” Dumbledore said calmly. His voice had a soothing effect on them all, and Millie's parents were able to calm their effusions of relief, though Mrs. Bulstrode refused to relinquish her hold of her daughter.

“Naturally, your mother and father were deeply concerned about your disappearance,” Dumbledore continued, “And I was no less anxious to return to Hogwarts to ensure your safety. Though it seems, thanks to Mr. Potter, we had nothing to fear.”

He turned his blue eyes, shielded by a pair of half-moon spectacles, toward Harry, and for the first time the Bulstrodes took notice of him standing there. Mr. Bulstrode took a step toward him, and held out his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, “Thank you for bringing our daughter back safely. I don't know how we'll ever replay you.”

Harry accepted the handshake awkwardly, saying, “Don't mention it. It was nothing.”

“It's not nothing to us,” said Mrs. Bulstrode, her eyes shining with tears as she pressed a kiss to Millie's forehead, “You saved our little girl. We won't ever, ever forget that.”

The embarrassing scene was enough to help Millie return to her old self. Blushing furiously, she squirmed in her mother's tight embrace.

“But how did it happen?” Mr. Bulstrode asked, “Why was Millicent taken?”

The moment for explanation had come, and Harry wasn't even sure where to begin. He needn't have worried, as to everyone's surprise, Millie wriggled out of her mother's grasp and stepped forward. Standing before Dumbledore, she placed both the Sorting Hat and the tattered journal on the desk. Harry stared at the diary. He hadn't even realized Millie grabbed it before they left.

“I did it,” Millie said, “I'm the one who's been opening the Chamber of Secrets. I wrote the messages on the wall.”

Mrs. Bulstrode gasped in horror, but Harry didn't give anyone else time to speak.

“It was Tom Riddle,” he said, “He possessed Millie using that book, and then he tried to kill her.”

“Tom Riddle?” blustered Mr. Bulstrode, “And who in blazes in Tom Riddle? A student?”

He looked to the headmaster for an explanation, and for once, Dumbledore's calm exterior betrayed a look of curiosity. Harry thought he detected a sign of recognition in his light blue eyes. He'd seen a younger Dumbledore in Riddle's memory. Surely Dumbledore remembered the name, but did he know Riddle's connection to Lord Voldemort? Did he suspect that the boy of fifty years ago and the man who murdered Harry's parents were one and the same?

“I think the time for explanations must wait,” Dumbledore said, looking toward Mr. Bulstrode, “It has been a long night, and I believe Miss Bulstrode requires rest. Professor McGonagall, if you could escort Miss Bulstrode to the hospital wing? We will talk again in the morning.”

McGonagall stepped forward, ushering the Bulstrode family toward the door with promises of hot tea and a room prepared for them in the castle. Millie hesitated in the doorway, stopping only to ask, “Does this mean I'm not expelled?”

Dumbledore smiled kindly at her, “No, Miss Bulstrode. Not expelled. Not this year, at any rate.”

Millie cast one last look on Harry, who smiled at her as she headed out the door, her parents on either side. Millie's pardon gave him hope that he too would be spared expulsion.

Snape slipped into the office as McGonagall led the Bulstrodes down the stairs, and just like that, Harry's hopes were dashed. The Potions Master would undoubtedly do everything in his power to see Harry expelled. Convincing Dumbledore to do otherwise may prove more difficult than fighting the basilisk.

“So you met Tom,” Dumbledore began, “How did he appear to you?”

“He looked exactly like he did fifty years ago, sir,” Harry explained, “I think you must remember what he was like back then?”

“I do,” said Dumbledore quietly. His gaze now moved past Harry to glance toward Professor Snape, sulking in a corner like a viper waiting to strike. Harry thought Dumbledore would ask him to leave, but luck was not on his side, and Dumbledore quietly motioned for Harry to continue.

“He was just a memory. He said he put a part of himself in that journal. When Millie started writing in it, he was able to control her. That's how she was able to open the Chamber. But she didn't know what was happening, sir. I swear she had no idea until it was too late.”

“A part of himself...” Dumbledore mused aloud. “I think I understand you, Harry. And I can certainly understand why concern for your friend led you to follow her into the the Chamber. But tell me, how did you know where the entrance was hidden?”

Harry hesitated. So far, the simple truth had served him well. But if he wasn't careful, he was likely to incriminate more than just himself.

“It was the voice,” Harry improvised, “I guess you must know by now that I'm a parselmouth?”

Dumbledore nodded to show that the news had indeed reached him, and the smallest of glances toward Snape revealed to Harry the source of his information.

Harry continued, “I've been hearing a voice all year. Almost always before an attack. First Mammon, and then Colin... I figured it must be a snake, because I seemed to be the only one who could hear it. Hermione was trying to figure out how it could be moving around the school...”

“Hermione Granger?” Dumbledore said, interrupting Harry's story for the first time, “So she knew of this as well?”

“She was trying to stop the attacks herself,” Harry said, carefully avoiding her use of the polyjuice potion. Hermione had admitted to stealing from Snape's private stores to make the draught, and Harry wasn't about to reveal her secret with the Potions Master standing right there. “She's the one who realized the snake must be traveling through the pipes, right before she was petrified. And... And she also found out the snake was a basilisk.”

From there, telling the rest was surprisingly easy. Harry explained, clearly and quickly, how the basilisk had managed to petrify its various victims, miraculously killing none. He was also careful to state, more than once, that Hagrid was innocent, and that Tom Riddle had framed him all those years ago. He did not mention his adventures in the forbidden forest, or Aragog, alive and well in the safety of the trees. He did, however, talk more about Tom, and how he had revealed his alter-ego to Harry in the Chamber. Dumbledore did not react to the news in the slightest, confirming Harry's suspicion that he already knew.

“It is an amazing story, Harry,” Dumbledore said when he'd finished. He reached out a pale, bony hand and plucked the Sorting Hat from his desk, replacing it on the shelf where it normally rested. Turning to face Harry once again, he asked, “One question more. How did you defeat the Basilisk?”

Harry could feel the locket, still hidden under his jumper. It lay against his chest, as freezing cold has it had been when he first put it on. It had belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Of that, Harry was certain. That meant it was a relic of school history. But Slytherin had abandoned Hogwarts, and the locket came to Harry from the Sorting Hat. Didn't that make it his? Was it possible that he, and not Tom Riddle, had been the Heir of Slytherin all along?

Harry couldn't explain it, but he didn't want to part with the locket. And he certainly wasn't going to tell Dumbledore about it. The lie came to him more easily than he could have imagined.

“I already said, I'm a parselmouth,” Harry replied, “All I had to do was talk to the snake, and it bit Riddle's diary instead of me. After that, they were both destroyed.”

“Riddle... And the basilisk?” Dumbledore asked, raising his brows.

Harry shrugged, as if to say the mutual destruction baffled him as well.

“Forgive me, Headmaster,” Snape said, stepping forward, “But I still don't understand one thing. How did Miss Bulstrode come into possession of such a dangerous object to begin with?”

Here was a question Harry had not been prepared to answer. He was still reeling from his adventure in the Chamber, he hadn't had time to consider where the journal had come from. They had spent all year believing the culprit to be Draco, and now...

Then he remembered. They had run into Lucius Malfoy and Draco that summer, hadn't they? It happened just after they left the bookshop. Mr. Malfoy was discussing the Ministry raids with Mrs. Zabini. He'd been to Diagon Alley, looking to sell some items that would “embarrass him.” Harry could barely remember the incident now, but he knew Millie had insulted Mr. Malfoy, and he was angry. Could he have slipped the diary among her schoolbooks then? Would he really put the whole school in danger for such a petty slight?

He couldn't be sure. It was just as likely that Draco slipped the diary among Millie's books when they arrived at school, perhaps not realizing what dark magic the book secretly contained.

As he pondered, they were interrupted by the subject of Harry's thoughts, himself. Lucius Malfoy swept into the room, obviously arriving in a hurry, as he still had his house elf with him, nervously bobbing around his shoes in an attempt to polish them.

“Albus,” he said, sneering at the headmaster, “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Lucius,” Dumbledore said, countering Mr. Malfoy's open hostility with affable grace, “You seem harried. You seem harried. Would you like a seat?”

“No, thank you. I'd rather know why you have returned to Hogwarts, when the governors have asked for your resignation?”

“Oh, as to that,” Dumbledore replied, “I have spoken to each of the school governors. It seemed that when word of Miss Bulstrode's kidnapping reached them, they felt it would be expedient of me to return to Hogwarts at once. Funnily, many of them seemed to be under the impression that you would curse their families if they did not order my resignation in the first place.”

“How dare you?” demanded Mr. Malfoy, drawing himself to his full height, “And what have you done since your return? Has the girl been found?”

“Yes, thanks to Harry Potter. She has been saved.”

Mr. Malfoy's gaze flashed onto Harry. For a moment, he thought he detected a flicker of fear in Mr. Malfoy's expression, but Harry was at a loss as to what it meant. He kept his gaze riveted on Harry, wetting his lips before addressing Dumbledore again.

“And the culprit? Has Harry Potter found that out as well?”

Dumbledore appeared extremely satisfied as he gave his response, “Oh yes. It was the same person who was responsible for opening the Chamber fifty years ago. Lord Voldemort.”

Harry saw Mr. Malfoy flinch as Dumbledore pronounced the name, but he made no move to contradict the headmaster. For his part, Dumbledore acted as if he hadn't noticed Mr. Malfoy's discomfort.

“He used this,” Dumbledore said, lifting the diary from his desk so that Mr. Malfoy could clearly see the hole in the cover, stained all over with blank ink. “Though I must admit, I cannot fathom how such a thing got into the hands of a student.”

This comment confirmed Harry's suspicions. Mr. Malfoy was behind the attacks, and had attempted to frame Millie. Dumbledore must believe it as well, otherwise he would not talk to Mr. Malfoy in this way.

Mr. Malfoy had sufficiently recovered from his initial shock, and he was able to reply to Dumbledore's question with cool indifference.

“Well, let us hope that you do a better job keeping the school free of outside interference in the future.”

“I intend to,” Dumbledore said, the pleasant smile never leaving his face.

Mr. Malfoy made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, then ordered the house elf to leave off with his shoes before exiting the room as quickly as he'd arrived.

Harry watched Dobby go, feeling terrible for the elf who had done so much to help him over the last year. He wanted to do something to repay him. Then he had an idea.

“Now then, Harry” Dumbledore was saying as Harry considered the likelihood of his plan succeeding, “We must do something to thank you for everything you have done. A hundred points to Slytherin for starters, and how about a special award for services to the school?”

“I don't need any reward,” Harry replied, “But if you don't mind, sir, could I have this?”

He pointed to the diary. Dumbledore glanced down at the cursed object, momentarily stunned by the request. Then he seemed to catch Harry's meaning, and his smile returned.

“I don't suppose it can do any harm to anyone now,” he replied, “You may take it.”

“Thanks, Professor Dumbledore!” Harry said, ignoring Snape's expression of horror as he snatched the diary from the desk and rushed quickly out of the office. He didn't want to allow Mr. Malfoy time to escape. He knew it was impossible to disapparate on the school grounds, but if Mr. Malfoy made it to the gates, he would be gone, and Harry would miss his chance.

He caught up to Draco's father just as he approached the front entrance of the castle. Calling out his name, he forced Mr. Malfoy to stop in his tracks, with Dobby peering at Harry from behind his master's robes.

“What is it, Potter?” Mr. Malfoy asked, obviously cautious, but no less curious to see what he would say.

“I know it was you,” Harry said bluntly, “You're the one who gave the diary to Millie.”

Mr. Malfoy saw the ruined journal clutched tightly in one of Harry's hands, and his eyes flashed in anger. Taking a menacing step toward Harry, he said, “Prove it.”

“I don't have to,” replied Harry, “All I have to do is tell Mrs. Zabini. Who do you think she's going to believe? You, or the Boy Who Lived?”

Mr. Malfoy was shaken, but not entirely convinced by Harry's bravado.

“And you think she could do anything to me?”

“Maybe not personally, but I know she has influence over the Minister. Probably even more than you. And your home has already been under suspicion once. I bet with things as they are now, she could make life very difficult for you.”

Mr. Malfoy stepped back. His demeanor was less threatening now, but Harry could still see the expression of fury in his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want you to free Dobby.”

“My house elf?” said Mr. Malfoy in a tone of disbelief, “That's ridiculous! What do you want with him?”

“Free Dobby,” Harry repeated, “And I won't say anything. Not to Mrs. Zabini, not to Dumbledore, or any other adult who could make your life hell.”

Mr. Malfoy deliberated for a moment, then his obvious rage gave way to a chilling smile.

“I'm impressed, Potter. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Does that mean we have a deal?”

“Yes, I agree to your terms. But I want the diary.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, pulling the necktie from his uniform and handing both it and the journal to Mr. Malfoy.

Mr. Malfoy accepted he offering, though with a quick movement, he grasped Harry's wrist with his other hand, pulling him closer and hissing into his face, “Don't think this ends here, Potter. We will meet again.”

He released his grip and tossed the necktie in Dobby's direction without acknowledging him. Dobby, on reflex, caught the slip of fabric in both hands, then he stood there, hardly believing his luck as his former master walked away.

“Congratulations, Dobby,” Harry said, grinning from ear to ear, “You're a free elf.”

Dobby lifted his gaze from the necktie to stare into Harry's face, his eyes swimming with tears.

“My master... Mr. Malfoy will not soon forget what you have done, Harry Potter,” squeaked the elf. “Why? Why would Harry Potter put himself at risk for Dobby's sake?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm not afraid of Lucius Malfoy. He knows what I'm capable of now, and I don't think he'll try anything soon without a better plan. But what about you, Dobby? What will you do now that you are free?”

“Oh, Dobby has spent many hours thinking of what he would do with his freedom!” Dobby exclaimed joyfully, “But these were only dreams! Now that it has happened, Dobby will take a vacation, Harry Potter, sir. Then Dobby will find work. Proper work, with wages!”

Harry felt so happy at the elf's exuberance, he almost felt like crying. Then again, the combination of mental and physical fatigue might have finally taken hold of him, causing the excess emotion.

“Good luck, Dobby,” he said, offering his hand to the elf, “If you ever need anything, you can always find me.”

Dobby accepted Harry's hand, for once not melting into a pile of ecstasy at a simple sign of kindness, and the two parted as odd friends.

 


	38. Reunions

In the end, Dumbledore granted Harry an award for “Special Services to the School.” A silver trophy, inscribed with his name, quietly replaced one that bore the name of Tom Riddle. It was done without ceremony, and the gesture was lost on Harry, who found himself more pleased by Dumbledore's announcement the morning after his adventure.

Dumbledore's first act has newly reinstated headmaster was to cancel the final exams. The student body, already overjoyed to see his familiar face at the staff table, burst into cheers. They had been plagued with anxiety all year, and no one had known how they were expected to pass their tests.

With the exams canceled, Millie's parents offered to take her home early, where she would be free to spend the rest of term in calm seclusion. But Millie insisted that she wanted to stay, and privately Harry was grateful to her. It would be lonely without either of his friends for company.

Harry drafted a long letter to Blaise, informing him of everything that had happened, and sent it by Hedwig at the first opportunity. He hoped that when Mrs. Zabini learned that the school was free of danger, she would allow her son to return for his third year.

It wasn't until Harry left the owlery and entered his dorm that he realized he was still wearing the locket. He must have slept in it the night before, but he was surprised it had escaped his notice. It was heavy, and still cold to the touch. Wanting to inspect it more closely, he lifted the long chain over his head, and felt curiously reluctant to part with the necklace. He puzzled over the clasp, wondering why he couldn't pry it open with his fingernail. It was as if the locket was glued shut.

Looking over the surface again, Harry noticed that the intricate _S_ inlaid with emeralds strongly resembled a tiny, glittering serpent. It occurred to him that the locket may open with parseltongue, just as the entrance to the Chamber had.

Before the first whisper of a hiss could escape his lips, Millie burst into his room.

“He's back,” she said breathlessly, as if she'd run all the way up the stairs, “Hagrid's back from Azkaban.”

Harry wanted to see Hagrid as soon as possible, and he knew they were late for the evening feast already. He pulled the chain back over his head, dropping the locket down the front of his shirt for safekeeping. Millie watched him perform the action with a frown of disapproval, though she deferred commenting on Harry's accessory for the time being.

Harry quickly followed Millie out the door, only to rush back for a pair of shoes he'd forgotten in his haste. Millie waited impatiently in the common room, holding an irritable but thankfully restored Mammon in her arms. The rest of Slytherin House had already left for the feast, but Harry and Millie preferred to hang behind. They were uncharacteristically popular now, as everyone wanted to know what had happened in the Chamber. But Millie had never been the type to court attention, and Harry wanted to put the whole experience behind him.

Their intentions had been good, but as they entered the Great Hall, Harry found himself wishing they'd allowed themselves to be lost in the crowd. Their entrance caused quite a stir. Slytherin House greeted him with enthusiasm, with some even breaking out in spontaneous applause. Harry's exploits in the Chamber were now widely known, and the points he had earned would secure Slytherin the House Cup that year by a wide margin. Many of the students in his own house considered him a hero.

The reception from the other three houses, however, was considerably more subdued. To some, Harry's knowledge of the Chamber entrance and his ability to escape alive only served as proof that he had been the Heir of Slytherin all along. Harry had no doubt that Ron Weasley was behind the rumor that Millie's kidnapping and rescue were all a plot to conceal Harry's crimes - a set-up between the two friends to clear his name and prevent the school from closing for good.

In spite of the suspicion that seemed to follow him no matter what he did, there were a select few who were genuinely happy to see him. The first was Hermione Granger, who called to Harry as she made her way over from the Gryffindor table. She smiled wide, showing off her two large front teeth, and dragging Neville along behind her. Harry accepted her hug when she drew near, and was somewhat surprised by how glad he was to see her again.

“You did it, Harry!” she exclaimed, “I just knew you would! Oh, but I wish I hadn't been petrified! I would have liked to help. What was it like in the Chamber? Was it dreadful? Is it true what they're saying? That it was _you-know-who_?”

Harry didn't know what question to answer first, so he settled for flattery instead.

“I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione,” he said, “It was your clue about the pipes that helped us. And you're the one who figured out that the beast was a basilisk.”

“That's nothing but a little research,” Hermione replied, but Harry could tell that she was pleased with the compliment.

“Not only that,” added Harry, “But Neville helped, too. If he hadn't found your note, and figured out how the basilisk was petrifying everyone, Millie and I might not be here now.”

“Neville did that?” Hermione asked, unable to hide her surprise, “Why didn't you say anything, Neville?”

Harry turned to the silent Gryffindor, standing meekly to the side. “You mean you didn't tell Hermione about how you went into the Forbidden Forest with me, and we fought off about a hundred giant spiders?”

Hermione continued to stare at Neville in astonishment, for once at a loss for words, while Neville stammered out a few embarrassed excuses for his previous silence on the subject. Fortunately, he was spared a lecture from Hermione on the dangers of breaking school rules by the approach of Ned Willowby, who seemed to be seeking Harry's permission before addressing him.

“H-Hello, Harry,” he said nervously upon catching Harry's eye.

Perhaps seeing Hermione and Neville approach Harry first emboldened him to take this step, but he still needed reassurance. Harry smiled at him and offered his hand, which Ned accepted thankfully.

“Good to see you, Ned,” Harry said, and even Millie nodded her head in agreement.

“I wanted to thank you. For everything you've done,” Ned replied, as shy as he'd been the day he first met Harry.

“Don't mention it,” said Harry. And he meant it. He didn't think he'd done anything he needed to be thanked for. It was Snape and Professor Sprout who had brewed the mandrake potion that restored Hermione and Ned, not him.

“Also, I need to apologize,” Ned added, “I accused Zabini of being the Heir. Now everyone is saying it was somebody named Riddle?”

Harry didn't now what to say. He wasn't sure how much information he could reveal. Dumbledore had already given the school a vague and completely unconvincing explanation of how Millie was restored to them - an explanation that raised far more questions than it answered.

Things grew more complicated with the arrival of Colin Creevy, who inserted himself into the conversation with a joyful shout, causing Ned to flinch in alarm.

“Harry Potter! Hero of Hogwarts!” he shouted for all in their immediate vicinity to hear. He lifted his camera to his face, and Harry instinctively moved his hands to shield his own. But Colin didn't take the shot. Laughing, he lowered the camera and said, “Only joking! Do you like it? Some of the guys ordered a new one for me since the last was broken.”

“Your camera was broken?” Harry asked, glancing at Colin's new device. The first had been a bit on the cheap side, but the new camera had clearly been purchased by a group of wizards who knew nothing about muggle technology. It was ancient. But Colin was oblivious to its inferiority over his last model, and was merely pleased by the gift.

“Broken!” He repeated in a tone of surprise, “It got completely destroyed when I tried to take a picture of that snake! Didn't you know? Blimey, I thought you knew everything, after what everyone has been saying.”

“And what have they been saying? About me?” Harry asked, chancing a cautious glance at Ned, who still lingered, clearly waiting to hear an answer to his earlier question.

Colin's eyes grew wide, a glimmer of his former admiration for Harry apparently restored as he recited, “That you-know-who put a curse on the school, and that it opened the Chamber of Secrets and caused a whole bunch of people, like me, to get petrified. But then you used parseltongue to charm the serpent that was doing you-know-who's bidding, so it destroyed itself instead and broke the curse, and now Hogwarts is safe again, and basically you've defeated you-know-who for a third time.”

“That's... Basically right,” Harry said. The details were all wrong, but it seemed the rumor mill of Hogwarts did impressive work once again.

Harry turned back to Ned, Hermione, and Neville.

“Well, there you have it. It was all Lord... Er, _you-know-who's_ doing. That thing about Riddle was just... It was the password. Into the Chamber. I had to answer a riddle.”

Ned looked skeptical.

“That's just like the Ravenclaw tower,” he said, “What was the riddle you had to answer, Harry?”

“Anyway, Colin,” Harry said, turning back toward his fellow Slytherin as if he hadn't heard Ned's question, “I wanted to thank you, too. You put yourself in danger to stand up for me, and it got you petrified. I haven't forgotten.”

He offered his hand to Colin. At the beginning of the year, this simple gesture of acknowledgment from the Boy Who Lived might have sent Colin into spasms of joy. But now, Colin simply grinned and accepted the handshake, as he jokingly offered to give Harry an autograph sometime, if he would like.

Herbivorous Pandey began to call for Colin from the end of the table. He seemed irritated, but Harry took it as a good sign that he wanted Colin's attention. Laughing at his impatience, Colin waved goodbye to Harry and made for the group of first-year boys, likely the same who had pitched in to buy his camera.

“That's us as well,” said Hermione, deciding for both herself and Neville that it was time to return to their place among the Gryffindors. “You really did amazing, Harry. But don't get too comfortable. I'll see to it that Gryffindor wins the House Cup next year.”

“We'll see about that,” Harry said, accepting a final hug before Hermione and Neville both departed. Ned took the opportunity slip quietly back to the Ravenclaw table, though not without giving Harry a nod and a look that plainly expressed his curiosity to know more about the Chamber. Harry would have to think of a better story next time.

“You could have backed me up,” Harry commented to Millie as they found empty seats among the Slytherins.

“And expose myself as the one who was possessed by _you-know-who_ all year?” she asked, “I don't think so.”

Harry wanted to press the issue, but their conversation was put on hold. Many of the Slytherin students were eager to have Harry at their side, and there was a lot of shuffling seats during the meal in an attempt to get closer to him.

Curiously, only Draco Malfoy preferred to keep aloof. Harry suspected that his father had spoken to him about Dobby's change in circumstances. It was the only explanation for Draco's sour mood. But since Harry could only benefit from Draco keeping his distance, he wasn't complaining. If he was lucky, Lucius Malfoy would have put an end to Draco's efforts to befriend Harry indefinitely.

Meanwhile, Harry kept his eyes open for Hagrid. He'd expected to see him in the Great Hall when they first arrived, but his seat at the staff table had been conspicuously empty. Millie had said he'd returned, but perhaps he did not plan to join the feast?

Harry was beginning to despair of seeing Hagrid at dinner, and was already making plans to sneak out to his cabin that night when Hagrid finally made his appearance. He tried to do so as unobtrusively as possible, but his size prevented him from escaping notice. Harry rose from his place immediately and rushed to greet him, finding quickly that Hagrid was just as thrilled to see him again.

“You did it, Harry! I knew yeh could!” he said happily, his bear hug pulling Harry clear off the floor before settling him down again, “I just knew yeh'd figure out my message!”

“Yeah, I found Aragog,” Harry said once he had his wind back, “And we need to have a little talk about your choice of friends, Hagrid. But first, I need to ask you for a favor.”

* * *

 

They waited until the feast was over, long after everyone else had gone to bed. By prearrangement, Harry met Hagrid at the entrance to the school. He wore his father's cloak, leading the way by occasional whispers to the gamekeeper. Hagrid was too large to hide under the cloak himself, but Harry figured as a staff member, no one would question him for being in the corridors after hours.

“Are yeh sure abou' this, Harry?” Hagrid asked in a nervous whisper as they made their way toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

But Harry merely shushed him, and pushed the door open to usher him inside.

Harry had worried that the tunnel would be too small for Hagrid's large frame, but they were in luck. Hagrid slipped easily down the passage, landing at the bottom safely before Harry followed suit.

Hagrid began to voice his concerns again as they made their way toward the Chamber entrance, but Harry played off his emotions.

“It's hurt, Hagrid. It needs caring for.”

“But it's too dangerous, Harry! What if it doesn' listen to you this time?”

“It will,” said Harry confidently. He could feel the cold touch of the locket under his shirt. With Salazar Slytherin's help, and no Tom Riddle to interfere this time, Harry was not worried about this meeting with the basilisk.

He found the serpent in nearly the same position as he'd left it. The poor beast had coiled around itself, hiding its wounded face in misery. Harry made plenty of noise to signal their approach, then hissed in greeting. The basilisk lifted its head at the sound, and Hagrid gasped. Harry was worried he might scream, but Hagrid was not alarmed. He was overcome by pity rather than fear.

“Oh, the poor creature! Jus' look a' his face!”

“He was blinded by Fawkes,” Harry explained, “He won't be able to hurt anyone just by looking at them anymore. Do you think you can help him?”

“I dunno, Harry,” Hagrid said cautiously, “Basilisks are... Well, they aren't the kindest o' beasts. An' this one... This one has killed before.”

“He had a bad master before, but I don't think he's really evil,” Harry argued, “He's just... misunderstood.”

He used Hagrid's old excuse on purpose, and it seemed to do just the trick. Hagrid's heart melted for the poor, abused animal, and his next question was if he were allowed to pet it.

“ _This is Hagrid, a friend,_ ” Harry explained to the snake in parseltongue, “ _You must never hurt him, alright? And he'll bring you plenty of food, and take care of you.”_

The serpent flickered its tongue, memorizing Hagrid's scent, and agreed to Harry's commands. Hagrid fell to caressing its scales and tending to its ruined eyes immediately, using some of the supplies Harry had warned him he might need.

“I'll do it, Harry,” Hagrid said while he worked, “I'll take care o' him. But on one condition. He's got ter be moved out o' the castle. This is a school fer children, after all!”

“Of course,” said Harry, “But I have a condition for you as well. You can't tell Dumbledore about him.”

He knew Hagrid was fiercely loyal to the headmaster, and also notoriously terrible at keeping secrets. He was worried Hagrid would make the promise, but be unable to keep it. Instead, Hagrid surprised him with a deep laugh.

“Blimey, Harry! Tell Dumbledore? I haven't even told him about Aragog!”

* * *

 

The end of term finally arrived. Harry, viewed as a hero by some, and a sinister villain in the making by others, was actually ready for a break, though he dreaded returning home to the Dursleys.

“You have to promise to write me,” Harry said as he and Millie prepared to board the Hogwarts Express.

“Only if you actually write back, this time.” Millie said jokingly.

“I already told you, that was Dobby!”

They had grown closer as friends during the last week of school. Millie opened up to Harry about the things she had shared with Riddle, and she now spent more time talking to him than scribbling on spare bits of parchment. They didn't talk about the Chamber, but the shared experience would always bind them together.

“Listen to this,” Millie said as the train began to pull away from the platform. She was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands, and began to read, “Gilderoy Lockhart, adored by fans for such works as _Gadding with Ghouls,_ is on the run from Ministry Officials. An inquiry into Lockhart's works began when some started to question his overnight rise to stardom. Lockhart claims to have personally intervened in several high-profile cases, which are now said to be resolved by witches and wizards previously unheard of. The inquiry suggests that even events in Lockhart's autobiography, _Magical Me_ , have been fabricated. This reporter sought out Mr. Lockhart during his tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but was informed by Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, that he has left the school indefinitely. His whereabouts are currently unknown.”

“Guess he won't be coming back,” Harry commented as Millie reached the end of the article.

Millie folded up the paper, saying, “I hope not. Who do you suppose they'll get to replace him?”

“No idea,” mused Harry. He pitied the next person to come along. After Quirrell and Lockhart, Harry was starting to believe the rumor that the job was cursed.

“I wish you'd put that thing away,” Millie suddenly snapped.

Harry looked at her in surprise before realizing that he'd been fiddling with Salazar's locket. He hadn't even realized it was in his hand.

“Sorry, Millie,” Harry said, trying not to sound defensive, though he didn't understand why she was angry. “Does it bother you?”

“It just gives me a creepy feeling,” Millie said, glaring at the pendant, “I wish you'd put it away.”

Harry still believed it was his by right, having been given to him by the Sorting Hat. But Millie had just gone through a terrible experience thanks to an enchanted object, and Harry could understand her superstitious attitude toward the locket. He agreed to stow it away for now, and slipped it into his trunk among his other possessions, where it was promptly forgotten.

The train arrived safety at Platform 9 ¾, and Harry immediately resumed his previous request.

“You have to write. If you don't, then you have to invite me to stay with you,” Harry insisted, dreading the possibility of spending an entire summer with his relatives, “Ask your parents if they'll have me.”

“Harry, you know they won't refuse you anything.”

“I know, but it's more polite coming from you.”

“Why don't you just ask Blaise? He's standing right over there.”

“What?” Harry practically shouted, spinning around to stare into the faces of the waiting crowd. Sure enough, he saw Blaise standing on the platform, his mother at his side. Harry looked back at Millie, who returned his expression of surprise with a smirk. Obviously, Harry hadn't been the only one exchanging letters with Blaise.

Harry decided to berate Millie for breaking their promise about secrets later, and rushed to greet his friend. The two embraced, laughing ecstatically at being reunited again, while Millie rolled her eyes and muttered about them under her breath.

“You didn't tell me you'd be here!” Harry said happily. “It's good to see you! Both of you!”

“Harry, we're glad to see you, too. And to know you're safe,” Mrs. Zabini said, wrapping her arms around both boys, “And we're here because I have an important question to ask you.”

She pulled away from him so she could look Harry in the eyes, gripping both of his shoulders in her hands.

“Harry, would you like to come live with me and Blaise?”

At first, Harry was incapable of understanding the question. He began to look around the platform, expecting to see the Dursleys any minute, scowling as Harry dragged Hedwig to their car. But he was still on the magical side of the platform barrier, and no muggles were permitted on this side.

“But... My aunt and uncle?” Harry asked.

“You'd never have to see them again, if you didn't wish it,” said Mrs. Zabini, “It's all been arraigned. All you have to do is say yes, Harry, and my home becomes yours as well.”

“Do it, Harry!” Blaise urged, “You can have your own room, if you want. But hear me out, because mum's already said we could get bunk beds!”

Harry considered the offer.. His Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. She and his cousin Dudley were the last of his living relatives. Could Harry, who'd always wanted a family, leave them forever without a second thought?

The answer was simple. Of course he could.

“Yes!” Harry said without hesitation, “Yes, I'll come live with you!”

Mrs. Zabini hugged him again, then turned and ordered Blaise to help fetch his trunk. Harry said his goodbyes to Millie, then gathered up Hedwig's cage and returned to his newfound family. They passed through the platform barrier together, not to return to the muggle world, but exchanging one magical place for another.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Harry's second year at Hogwarts. But fear not! This story is far from over. Harry will return for his third year in due course.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their kudos and their comments thus far. The feedback has been very encouraging, and I honestly don't know if I would have continued Harry's story beyond his first year if it hadn't been for you all.
> 
> That said, I have been looking forward to Harry's third year for a long time, and I can't wait to get started on it! Look for future updates, and in the meantime, happy reading!


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